Of Twisted Morals and Human Weaponry
by BeyondTheStorm
Summary: One month. It had been one month since Merlin had disappeared. When Arthur set out to find his missing servant, he hadn't had much of a plan, but he's pretty sure that getting kidnapped and being held for ransom by a morally imbalanced weapons dealer hadn't been part of it. *Friendship, no slash, eventual magic reveal*
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** Um...hello! It's been a while...5 months again, actually...sigh. I don't know why that keeps happening. It would have been longer this time, but my sister convinced me to just get over all the concerns I had with posting this fic and to just do it already. But anyway, it's been a while, and I'm sorry about that. I got horribly distracted by a vast number of things, like video games and anime and a brilliant new show called Common Law (when a show combines humor, cops, witty banter, and bromance, I'm pretty much sold). So yeah, I got sucked into about 10 different fandoms in the last 5 months while still being obssessed with this one. Not an easy feat for me. But I'm back with a new fic, albeit a very different one.

**Title: **Of Twisted Morals and Human Weaponry  
**Author: **BeyondTheStorm  
**Rating: **T for...well, a lot of things. Some language, some violence, the whole general situation, a bit of torture, etc.  
**Characters/pairings:** The cast is as follows: Merlin, Arthur, an antagonist, two guards with names, and a few without. Merlin and Arthur are the main focus of this story. Oh, and no pairings. Only friendship here, though if you want to read more into it, feel free. Whatever floats your boat.  
**Spoilers: **Um...none, as far as I know.  
**Warnings: **Abuse, a bit of torture, me being descriptive  
**What to expect:** Bromance, introspection, angst, some whump, H/C, lots of drama, lots of worrying...oh, and some magic. Can't forget the magic :)

So anyway, this fic is a bit different from what I've written before. The style is still the same, but the theme is a tad bit darker (though that might just be my opinion), though it's not without its humor as well (it's Merlin and Arthur. Sarcasm is kind of a given). For those who are familiar with my writing, it'll be the same as it always is, meaning it's all from a POV. This fic will be almost entirely from either Arthur's or Merlin's POV, and even the few times where it isn't, the focus will still be on them, so even though there are three other characters, they only exist because I needed an antagonist and a way to help push the events along. You'll see what I mean eventually :)

Anyway, I'll say the rest of the stuff I want to say later, so without further ado, I hope you enjoy :)

* * *

CHAPTER 1

Sometimes, and only sometimes, mind you—after all, he _was_ a prince—Arthur really hated his life.

Now happened to be one of those times.

The rather disgruntled future king heaved a deep sigh before settling against the far wall, the stone hard and rough against his back; he could even feel the cold of it through his shirt, sending a chill down his spine. He looked out into the well-lit hall that he could see beyond the bars of his cell (two stone walls and two barred ones), wishing that the master of this stupid fortress would just hurry up and tell him what they wanted from him already. He had better things to be doing than lying about in some dungeon—and _really_, it was only due to a stroke of luck on their part that they had managed to capture him in the first place. If he hadn't been so tired, they never would have been able to sneak up on him like that.

Arthur let his head fall back, thumping it against the wall while he cursed his luck. He should have known better than to leave Camelot by himself, to pretend he was just going hunting for a few days to clear his head (it was the only way his father would let him leave, and even then the king had been a bit suspicious about his reasons). At the very least he should have brought Leon with him, but he had been rather angry at the time and hadn't really thought his plan all the way through.

Not that he had had much of a plan to begin with, mind you, because he was pretty sure that "find Merlin" didn't actually qualify as a plan. Nonetheless, that was what he had been doing, what _most_ of them had been doing discretely for the past month until his father had found out and put a stop to it. However, every time a patrol went out, regardless of what their assigned task was, they always took the time to search for Merlin. Half the time Arthur didn't even need to ask them to; they simply did it on their own. He couldn't help but wonder why, because he had been pretty sure that most of the nobility shared his father's point of view on servants, but the reasons didn't really matter in the long run. They were willing to help, and he was grateful for it.

Despite all their efforts though, they had yet to find a single trace of the prince's wayward servant.

One month.

It had been an entire month since Merlin had disappeared. No one had any idea what had happened—Arthur had simply woken up one morning to find that Merlin was gone. There had been no note, no farewell, and all of his belongings had still been in his room, untouched from the night before. No one, not even the guards posted at the gates, had seen the servant leave. Not a single person had been able to give him an answer as to why Merlin wasn't there, but Arthur was fairly certain that Gaius knew more about the situation than he let on. Questioning him hadn't gotten the prince anywhere though, and the physician had looked so worried and haggard that it just hadn't seemed right to accuse him of hiding something on top of everything else. Merlin was like a son to Gaius, so it was only natural that his disappearance would weight heavily on the man's heart.

If only Arthur had noticed the depth of it sooner (and had been able to acknowledge the weight upon his _own_ heart), then maybe he wouldn't be in this mess.

_None_ of them would be in this mess.

_One month…_

A lot can happen in a month.

The prince sighed as he let his head hit the wall once more, cursing himself for his foolishness. He had been doing a lot of that lately, and he had every reason to.

During those first two days when Merlin had failed to show up for work, Arthur hadn't really thought much of it. He had simply believed that Merlin was skiving (after all, it wasn't the first time Merlin had gone off without telling anyone), and so instead of looking for him, he had started making a list of all the chores he would pile on the boy as a punishment for disappearing and for making Gaius and Gwen worry.

By the third day, he had started to get a little worried himself. Despite being an idiot, Merlin wasn't thoughtless. If he was going to be gone for a few days, he would have at least said something to Gaius.

On the morning of the fourth, he had taken a group of knights and rode off into the forest, using the excuse of hunting down the remnants of the mercenary group they had encountered the week before. He hadn't been surprised when they didn't find anything, but the disappointment had hung thickly around all of them when they rode back into the city with no Merlin and no leads.

On the seventh day (and after five more "patrols"), he had spent a great deal of time cursing himself for not heading out that first day, because whatever trail there might have been would have been long gone by the time he had actually decided to start looking.

If something had happened to Merlin, it would be his fault, and he wasn't sure if he could live with that. Merlin _had_ to be alright, wherever he was, because Arthur couldn't accept the idea that he wasn't.

It had been somewhere around the fourteenth day that the king had finally caught on to what Arthur was doing and forbade him from continuing his search. His father had thrown around words like "duty" and "responsibility" and had called Merlin "just a servant," and all the while Arthur had kept quiet while internally seething at his father's callousness. Merlin wasn't _just_ a servant—he was _Arthur's_ servant, and therefore he was Arthur's responsibility. Despite the fact that Merlin was somewhat incompetent at times, he wasn't a _terrible_ servant, and more importantly, he was a good person—loyal, selfless, kind—and a great friend.

In the end, this had never really been about finding his servant. Arthur was trying to find his _friend_ (not that he would ever admit it to anyone but himself, of course).

Unfortunately, every attempt to find Merlin had failed, and now he was days away from Camelot, stuck in some stupid cell and waiting for someone to tell him why he was here.

Aside from being dead, he was pretty sure the situation couldn't get much worse.

The sound of a heavy door creaking open and then slamming shut brought his musings to an abrupt halt as he quickly got to his feet and walked towards the bars. He could hear footsteps, just one set, coming down the long hall. Hopefully it would be whoever was in charge of the fortress and not some random guard, because he was tired of waiting.

He stood close to the cell door, doing his best to look as irritated as he felt and hoping he would come off as somewhat intimidating. He kind of got the feeling that wouldn't be the case though, as he wasn't really in an ideal setting to be deemed threatening. Still, he would stand his ground no matter what was thrown his way.

After what felt like forever, someone finally came into view. The first thing he noticed was that the man stood almost a foot taller than him and was built like a tree—probably not an easy person to overpower or intimidate. The second thing he noticed was the man's clothing. He had been expecting some ruffian, like a bandit or a mercenary or even a warlord, but the man was dressed like a noble.

He looked like a _lord_.

When they had brought him into the fortress, he hadn't gotten to see much of it, and it was hard to gauge what the place was like from just looking at the dungeons. However, it was true that the hallway outside was large and rather long, not to mention well lit and clean. Maybe the rest of the building was just as grand and just as well kept. Even though the owner looked like a tree trunk dressed in finery, he was clearly someone of high standing. This man was a lord, and seeing as how Arthur had never seen the likes of him before, it was probably safe to assume that he wasn't anywhere near Camelot. He couldn't help but wonder exactly which kingdom he was being held prisoner in.

The rest of the man's features were nothing too unexpected. He was gruff looking with tanned skin and short black hair that was beginning to gray. His eyes were dark, his face round, and there was a bit of a beard, black and gray just like his hair. His rather large arms were crossed over an equally large chest, and his lips were curled into something between a smirk and a sneer as his eyes ran over the captured prince.

He hadn't even opened his mouth yet and Arthur already hated him.

"Prince Arthur," the man said, his voice not as low as the prince had expected but just as arrogant as his pompous appearance implied. "What an _honor_ it is to meet you."

Arthur clenched his fists at his sides, wishing he could just reach out and punch the man in his fat, smirking face. His captor was mocking him, the sarcasm and amusement practically dripping from his voice. Instead of being intimidated, Arthur only felt frustrated. He wasn't about to give in to his captor's attempts at riling him even though he was _clearly_ at a huge disadvantage, and not just because he was in a cell. Even in a fair fight, he got the feeling he would have a hard time taking on the man before him. With a sword he would stand a better chance, but the hulking mountain of a lord likely wouldn't go down easily.

Hopefully he could find a way out of this without having to take his captor on.

"What do you want from me?" he asked, wanting to get to the point of all this, because he was really starting to get irritated.

"Come now, where are your manners? I thought your father would have raised you better than this."

Scratch that. Arthur wasn't just irritated. He was bypassing aggravation altogether and heading straight towards livid. It was a struggle to keep himself from lunging towards the bars. However, he _was_ a prince, and therefore he did have some self-control.

"I asked what you wanted, now answer me," he said in a tight voice, his words all very short and sharp. He watched the lord's smirk fall into a glare, still tinged with amusement but also annoyance. He had obviously been trying to goad the prince, but Arthur hadn't given into it. Apparently the time for menial sarcasm was over.

"You're a rather arrogant one, aren't you?" the man sneered. "Making demands when you're in no position to be doing so. Suppose I should expect no less from a spoilt little prince."

"Who are you?" Arthur demanded, his eyes narrowing as he met the man's glare with his own.

"Barragh. _Lord_ Barragh of Arwel, and this is my fortress. It was once an old castle, so I must say I find it rather befitting of a lord such as myself."

_Arwel?_ No, he definitely wasn't in Camelot anymore. Arwel was a territory far to the north in a very small kingdom between King Alined's and Mercia. Arthur had never actually been there before, having had no reason to travel towards either kingdom, but both King Bayard and Alined were supposedly on good terms with the smaller territory. His father, however, had always been a bit wary of it even though there hadn't seemed to be a reason behind his suspicion. Arthur could admit that his father was just a little paranoid sometimes, but apparently his instincts had been right this time.

"Why have you brought me here?" he asked.

"My, you certainly are an impatient one, aren't you?"

Arthur chose not to answer that and simply glared at the man until Barragh heaved a sigh and uncrossed his arms, his expression finally taking on a bit of gravity.

"You can relax, princeling. I've no intention of hurting you. I'm afraid the dead don't fetch a very high price."

"So you intend to ransom me." It wasn't a question. He was already certain he knew the answer.

"Of course. I know plenty of people who would pay handsomely for the prince of Camelot. I will of course send a demand to your father first, but if he refuses…then I'm afraid you're fair game."

Arthur just narrowed his eyes further, his fists clenched so tightly that his arms were shaking. It would be humiliating for his father to have to pay for his freedom, humiliating for the both of them. He was supposed to be Camelot's best fighter, and yet he had allowed something like this to happen. What would the king think? He was likely to be disappointed. Surely he would pay the ransom though. There was no way his father would just leave him. However, there was always the chance that instead of accepting the terms, the king would simply send the army. He didn't want to admit it, but it was true that his father could be irrational in certain situations. Hopefully this wouldn't be one of those times. The last thing they needed was a full-scale war on their hands.

"However, I'm afraid you'll be staying here for a while," Barragh informed him rather smugly, "as I'm currently in the middle of something a bit more important. I'll send word to your father as soon as I get a few results from my current project."

"Oh?" he began, taking an immediate interest. This was a chance to learn something about his captor. Any bit of information could help him assess things better and possibly find a way out of this ridiculous situation. "And what would that be? What does a _lord_ like you do that's so important that your king would give you a castle as grand as this?"

Arthur had been hoping that his obvious insult would get a rise out of Barragh, but the man only sneered at him once more, looking down on the prince (in more ways than one, the bloody giant).

"I deal in weaponry," he said, clearly proud of his trade. "I've sold a great deal of different weapons to my king as well as to other lords and other kingdoms even, and I'm very _good_ at what I do."

"Is that so?" _Damn._ Getting out of here would likely be a lot harder than he had originally thought. A fortress filled with all sorts of different weapons didn't bode well, and the man probably had hundreds of soldiers at his disposal given the size of his castle (the dungeons were massive all on their own, so he could only imagine how large the rest of it was). He couldn't help but wonder just what sort of weapons the man possessed, because he probably didn't deal in just common, everyday weaponry. You could easily go to a blacksmith and probably pay a much cheaper price than going through a trader like Barragh. No, he got the feeling this was something a bit bigger, more dangerous, and the means were probably suspect at best. There was just something about the way he had said it that bothered the prince. Whatever his methods were, Arthur was certain they were anything but honorable.

"Well, I hope you enjoy your stay, Prince Arthur," said Barragh, effectively drawing Arthur out of his thoughts. "You're likely to be with us for quite a while."

That bloody poor excuse for a nobleman was _smirking_ again, and he wished desperately for something to happen that would wipe that smirk away. If only there weren't a bunch of metal bars separating them, Arthur would have tackled the mountain of a man to the floor and punched that look right off his face. Unfortunately that little fantasy was rather impossible, but in the end Arthur _did_ manage to get his wish.

Just as Barragh was about to walk away, a bell started to chime rather loudly. It sounded a great deal like a warning bell.

"What?" the lord shouted, looking down both parts of the hallway. It wasn't long before the sound of frantic footsteps began to echo off the walls, growing louder and louder. Arthur watched as a single man suddenly came running in from the right and stopped in front of Barragh, out of breath but still doing his best to stand at attention and compose himself. Despite being dressed in armor and armed with _two_ swords, the soldier looked nervous and rather unsettled, bordering on terrified. He was staring at his master as if the lord might decide to suddenly bite his head off.

"My lord," the man greeted, his voice shaking just a little as he gave a hasty bow, but Barragh didn't seem to be in any mood for the man's formality and started shouting.

"Why was the bell sounded? _What_ is going on?"

"I'm sorry, my lord…"

"I've no time for your apologies. Just tell me what happened!"

"Sir, it's the prisoner. I'm afraid he's escaped…again."

Had Arthur not been standing so close by, he might not have heard that last word as the soldier had said it rather softly, his voice bland, almost bordering on resigned. It was almost as if…as if he were _used_ to this, Arthur realized with some astonishment—as if this sort of thing was actually _normal_.

Maybe it was if Barragh's reaction was anything to go by. The man looked infuriated and beyond exasperated, practically growling in irritation.

"Then what are you standing there for? Find him!" he roared, startling the poor soldier, the young man's eyes wide with fear. "Alert the others! Get him _back_ in his cell! I don't care how it's done—beat him if you have to! Just make sure he's still alive when I get there!"

"Y-yes, sir!"

Arthur watched as the guard practically fled down the hallway, and he couldn't help but smirk as he watched Barragh lose his temper, slamming a fist into the stone wall. The self-proclaimed weapons trader had been so collected and superior while talking to Arthur, but now he seemed to be unraveling at a rather fast pace. Time to see just how far he could push him. It wasn't exactly a wise idea to goad a person in the throes of anger, but people tended to have a looser tongue when enraged. Maybe the tyrant would let something slip in his fury.

"What's wrong, Barragh?" he began, crossing his arms and looking as smug as he felt. "Having a bit of trouble holding on to your prisoners? After all that boasting, I figured you'd have more control than this, but it seems to me it was all for show. If that's the case, then perhaps I'll be out of here sooner than you think."

Barragh whirled around to face the prince, his lips curling into a snarl.

"This one is a _special_ case," he growled, stalking closer to the bars of Arthur's cell. "That stupid brat is only useful to me alive, so I can't punish him the way I'd like, but if he keeps this up, I may have to change my mind."

The lord moved away from the cell once more, composing his expression and calming his anger. When he looked at Arthur again, his face was twisted into what was becoming a familiar sneer, this one filled with both loathing and amusement.

"Don't go getting any false hopes of escaping from this place. That boy may have gotten out of his cell more times than I care to admit, but we've caught him _every_ time. And unlike him, I'm sure you could probably survive more than a couple lashings."

With those final words, the man turned and swept down the hall, his footsteps thunderous and foreboding. Arthur suddenly found himself feeling a bit sorry for the other prisoner, who would likely be on the receiving end of Barragh's wrath.

Having nothing left to do and no one to talk to, Arthur retreated back to the far wall of his cell, taking a seat on the stone floor once again. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to calm himself but failing miserably. Instead he went back to cursing his luck. He had told his father that he would probably be gone for a few days, which meant that no one would be looking for him any time soon. A few days could mean anywhere from two to as many as seven. He was pretty sure he hadn't been gone for more than three, maybe four. It all depended on how long he had been unconscious for.

He thumped his head against the wall a few times, resisting the urge to lose control of his temper and just slam his fist into it. That certainly wouldn't help matters any, and it likely wouldn't make him feel any better either, but the urge was hard to resist nonetheless, because while he was trapped in some stupid fortress days away from Camelot, _Merlin_ was still out there somewhere, still missing, and there was nothing Arthur could do about it.

Damn it all, and he had actually been making some progress this time too! He had found an actual lead, a small village that Merlin had passed through. The young tavern owner had remembered someone fitting Merlin's description even though it had been almost a month back that he had been there. Apparently the boy had left quite an impression, but according to the owner, Merlin hadn't been alone, and the men with him hadn't seemed too friendly. _"Looked like mercenaries of a sort,"_ he had said. They had been heading east of the village.

Arthur had just gotten ready to set off when he had suddenly been ambushed by a rather large group of men, and once he had finally woken up after being clubbed over the head, they had already been riding up to the fortress. He had gone and gotten himself captured by some sort of sadistic weapons trader, and it didn't look like he'd be escaping anytime soon. Barragh seemed the type to hold true to his threats.

With nothing better to do, Arthur closed his eyes and decided to try and get some rest. He knew it would be pointless, that he'd only be able to manage a few hours at best before his mind would decide to start torturing him, but he got the feeling he wouldn't be getting much sleep in the next few days anyway, so he needed to take what he could get when he could get it.

It wasn't long before he began to drift off, slumping against the walls of his prison while the warning bell continued to chime in the distance. He knew it wouldn't last, that sooner or later something would wake him up—be it a guard or his own weighted mind—but for a while he could at least pretend that everything was alright, that when he woke up he would see the canopy of his four poster bed and not some dark cell. He could pretend that when morning came, light would spill in through the window and there would be an annoying but cheerful presence standing there, ready to greet him and keep him company throughout the day.

Just for a while, however impossible it would be, he wanted to pretend that the last month had never happened. He was home, Merlin was _safe_, and that lead weight—the one sitting so heavily upon his heart he feared it might crush him—was nothing more than a nightmare.

If only he could just wake up.

* * *

**A/N:** Next chapter will be from Merlin's POV, promise :)

So anyway, I hope you enjoyed the first chapter. In all honesty, I've actually had this fic partially written and sitting around for over a year now, but I was scared to start posting it. That tends to be the case with just about everything I write though. I'm always worried people won't like it.

I'm going to try and update every week like I usually do, witch is late Tuesday night for me, so the chapters will always be available on Wednesday morning. That's the plan :) If I finish writing the rest of the fic early, I'll probably update more often. We'll just have to see what happens :)

Lastly, I just wanted to thank anyone and everyone who has taken the time to read and/or review my other three fics. I continue to get such nice comments on all of them, and it always helps to brighten my day, so thank you :)

I guess that's it for now. Please feel free to leave a review. I won't beg, because I'm a terrible at leaving reviews myself, but I would like to know what you all think :) Be honest. I don't mind constructive criticism as long as it's polite and thought out.

See ya next week!


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** Hello again! Well...I'm still a bit shocked from the response I got from the last chapter. I really wasn't expecting it, so thank you so much to everyone who's reading this :) You made my week so much better.

**Title: **Of Twisted Morals and Human Weaponry  
**Author: **BeyondTheStorm  
**Rating: **T for...well, a lot of things. Some language, some violence, the whole general situation, a bit of torture, etc.  
**Characters/pairings:** The cast is as follows: Merlin, Arthur, an antagonist, two guards with names, and a few without. Merlin and Arthur are the main focus of this story. Oh, and no pairings. Only friendship here, though if you want to read more into it, feel free. Whatever floats your boat.  
**Spoilers: **Um...none, as far as I know.  
**Warnings: **Abuse, a bit of torture, me being descriptive  
**What to expect:** Bromance, introspection, angst, some whump, H/C, lots of drama, lots of worrying...oh, and some magic. Can't forget the magic :)

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Merlin :)

So, I meant to mention this last time, but I apparently forgot, so I'll do it now. I've already answered it a few times, but I think I'll do it once here for everyone. For anyone wondering, this fic doesn't actually have a specific time frame in mind within the series. It's definitely after season 1 and before the end of season 3, but aside from that, I never picked a place for it to go, which is why there are no spoilers listed for anything, because I have no intention of mentioning any of the big, deciding factors in the series (i.e. Morgana, Morgause, The Great Dragon, etc). I want it to be ambiguous, unlike all my other fics. I thought it would be fun. It's possible that this could change, depending on what happens, but for now that's the way it is :)

Anyway, like I promised, here's Merlin's POV! Hopefully this will answer a few questions (and quite possibly create some). Onward!

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CHAPTER 2

In hindsight, perhaps he could admit that maybe, just _maybe_, his plan hadn't been such a great idea after all. He was pretty sure that just about anyone would probably agree with him on that. If he ever managed to find a way out of this mess, he was certain that, if no one else, Gaius would have a thing or two to say about it (and he didn't even want to know what Arthur would do to him when he found out).

However, let it be known that he was in no way responsible for this. Whoever's fault it was, it most definitely wasn't his, not _really_…

…Well, maybe a bit.

Alright, so leaving Camelot and wandering off into the woods in the middle of the night _hadn't_ been the smartest thing he had ever done (although it certainly wasn't the dumbest), but after being woken up due to sensing something extremely powerful and very much magical, he couldn't just lie in bed and do nothing. Instead he had gotten up, dressed quickly, and left. He hadn't written a note or said anything to Gaius before leaving, but that was only because he hadn't expected to be gone for very long (and wasn't it funny how _that_ had turned out). He had only wanted to see what was going on and make sure that it didn't have anything to do with a magical attack against Camelot. That _was_ his duty, after all.

He had never even considered that it might be a trap—because really, in all honesty, he was just a servant as far as anyone knew, and why would someone ever go out of their way to trap a mere servant?

Well, _apparently_ it would seem that he wasn't as careful with his secret as he had originally thought (and Gaius would probably have a thing or two to say about _that_ as well), but honestly, it wasn't his fault. After all, if Arthur wasn't always throwing himself into dangerous situations, then Merlin wouldn't constantly have to protect him with his magic (so really, it was all Arthur's fault. Most of the terrible misfortunes to befall him usually were).

The whole thing had started just over a month ago when he and Arthur had gone out into the forest with some of the knights in order to hunt down a group of "mercenaries." As far as he was concerned, that was just a glorified term for "bandits," but every time he had referred to them as such, Arthur had corrected him. Apparently there was some big difference that he just wasn't able to comprehend or something like that (hired or not, what did it really matter? They were still just people willing to do anything for money). The two of them had argued about it for quite a while, not paying much attention to anything else…which, thinking back on it now, was probably how the mercenaries had been able to ambush them.

And there had been a_ lot_ of mercenaries.

The battle had gone like most battles usually do when Arthur's involved. The prince and his knights fought off the men while Merlin discreetly used his magic to help them. There had been falling tree branches and swords that were suddenly too hot to hold or that randomly went flying out of the men's hands. A lot of the mercenaries had found themselves tripping over nothing only to meet their end at a knight's blade. It had been rather chaotic, but in the end Camelot had once again been victorious.

However, some of the mercenaries had escaped. They had also seen him using magic to help the knights and doing so without any effort and with barely a word.

Earlier that day, before he and Arthur had even left the castle, he had asked the prince why they were going to hunt down the mercenaries. He had wanted to know what they had done. Apparently the group of unknown men had been taking people. They would set up camp near a village, and within a few days someone would disappear. It was usually just one or two people, but sometimes it was whole families. No one had any idea why or what for, but it wasn't a situation that could simply be ignored.

That was why they had ridden out to face the mercenaries, because as cruel as he could sometimes be, Uther did care about his people and wasn't the kind of king to ignore their plight. When word had reached him about the disappearances, he had reacted accordingly and with haste.

Unfortunately, none of them had known the full story. If he had, the warlock would have been a lot more discreet when using his magic, and he wouldn't have let _any_ of the men get away. That was, after all, why he was in this mess to begin with.

It had been one month now. One month since he had snuck out of the castle to investigate the magic he was sensing only to walk into a trap designed specifically for a sorcerer (or an idiot, because all they had really done was sneak up behind him and knock him out while he was distracted by the magical artifact that they had left lying in the middle of the bloody forest). It had been one month since he had been dragged across the kingdom and over the border. One month since he had been sold—_sold_, like he was a piece of property instead of a person—to an arrogant, overbearing lord with twisted morals and no sense of humor.

Bloody stupid mercenaries. They had ruined everything. It hadn't even been worth their time seeing as how the lord had had them all killed. Apparently allowing themselves to be noticed and then beaten by Camelot's knights meant that they were no longer useful (plus he got the feeling that this was a man who didn't like to let go of money if he didn't have to). Merlin was just thankful that they hadn't bothered to or even been given the chance to mention that he had been amongst those knights and thus had a direct connection to Camelot and to Arthur. If possible, he wanted to avoid dragging anyone else into this kind of situation, especially the prince. He didn't want the people he cared about to get hurt because of him.

It was best if these men all thought he was just some random, lonely sorcerer, albeit a very powerful one.

Unfortunately, they had seen to that as well, which was why after one month he was _still_ at the mercy of his captor. That didn't mean he couldn't make the man's life difficult though. After all, he certainly wasn't going to make things _easy_ for such an irritating, boisterous twat. Arthur at his worst couldn't hold a candle to this lord. Under different circumstances, he probably would have been worried about that (the man had a rather dangerous temper at times), but the whole situation was a rather precarious one, and he had learned early on that he could push the limits a great deal without consequences.

After all, it wouldn't do to damage a potentially valuable _asset_, would it?

He really—_really_, as in words could not describe just how much—hated being treated like a thing. One day that narcissistic nobleman would get what was coming to him.

However, that day likely wouldn't be anytime soon, Merlin mused to himself rather dejectedly as he was led down a lavish hallway by three armed guards who looked like they were enjoying this about as much as he was. Understandable seeing as how this wasn't the first time they had been made to do this. It probably wouldn't be the last either, which really was unfortunate, but it's not like he was going to just sit around and do nothing. Obedience was not one of his character traits (just ask Arthur), and so there was no way he was going to act like a good little prisoner and stay in his cell. Why stay when he could easily get out?

The only problem was that no matter how many times he escaped, he always ended up going right back in. They never failed to catch him (and he got the feeling that one day their master's patience was going to run out).

When they got to the end of the hallway, one of the men pushed open the large wooden door that would lead into another hall, one lined with cells. He was never put in the same cell twice in hopes that he wouldn't be able to break out of the new one. Wishful thinking on their part.

They walked all the way to the far corner, choosing a cell with four stone walls and a metal door—no bars, no windows, not a single way to let light in. There _was_ a small cot in the corner which was at least better than the pile of hay he had had last time, but it was still anything but ideal (a part of him was well aware that dungeons weren't _meant _to be comfortable or homey, but he had been here for a whole month now, so he had every right to be indignant).

One of the guards quickly opened the door while the other two brought him inside, leading him over to the far wall where a set of manacles attached to a long chain were lying in the corner. He wasn't sure why they even bothered. It's not like chaining him up ever did them any good.

When they were about halfway across the room, the guard on his right turned to the other, his expression warring between resigned and irritated.

"I can handle things from here. Go on and alert the others that we found him. That sodding bell is starting to give me a headache."

The other guard gave an amused smirk before releasing Merlin and heading back towards the door.

"Will do. I'll make sure to inform _his_ _lordship_ while I'm at it." There was no missing the disgust in those words, and the warlock inwardly smiled at the insulting tone. He had learned early on that most of the guards held no love for their master either.

When the door was finally shut and locked and the two guards had retreated down the hallway, the one still holding Merlin's arm quickly released it, his expression instantly softening into something that looked a great deal like sympathy. There was concern there too, as well as guilt, and it was a testament to just how many times he had been in this situation that he understood exactly why those emotions were there.

"Are you alright?" the man asked, and Merlin knew the concern in his voice was genuine.

"Well," he began, "all things considered, I've probably been better."

"You know what I mean, Merlin." His tone was serious, stern. "That was a reckless stunt you pulled. You could've gotten yourself killed."

"Right, and we all know how inconvenient _that_ would be," he muttered, but in the small, quiet cell, his words were easily overheard.

"I'm serious, Merlin. You could've been crushed. What were you thinking?"

"I was _thinking_ that I wanted to get out," he replied in exasperation, walking over to the cot and sitting down with a huff. He turned his attention to the floor, kicking absently at a loose stone. "The stupid door kept getting stuck when I tried to unlock it, and I guess I just got a bit frustrated. I didn't mean to destroy the whole wall."

"…Remind me to never get on your bad side."

Merlin looked up at that, unable to keep himself from smiling. It sometimes surprised him that he still could after everything that had happened in the last month. He had this man to thank for that, as well as a few others. When he was first locked up, he hadn't expected to be treated with anything other than cruelty and disdain, but that had all changed after just the first few days. He had learned rather quickly that most of the people working here weren't doing so out of choice. True, they had more freedom than he did, but many of them may as well have been prisoners.

Rordan was one such man. He looked a bit older than most of the guards Merlin had seen (which wasn't saying much as most of the guards were rather young), but he was actually only a few years older than the warlock himself, perhaps five or seven at the most. He was married with a beautiful wife and two little girls that he often spoke fondly of. It was for their sake that he was working as a guard. He never elaborated on why exactly, but Merlin knew enough to be able to read between the lines.

A person will often do whatever it takes to protect the people they care about even if it means doing something they aren't proud of.

And Rordan wasn't the only one in such a situation. Many of the guards had similar stories. Most he had heard by eavesdropping while the guards were patrolling the dungeons or when they were stationed outside his cell to keep watch. He had nothing better to do, after all, and any information he could get, no matter how trivial, was better than nothing. By now he knew most of their stories even though only a handful had ever talked to him personally, had bothered to share theirs with him and to listen to a few of his in return.

Sometimes he wishes that he had never bothered, had never overheard any of them talking during those first few days. It would have made things so much easier if he hadn't.

He watched quietly as Rordan slowly walked over, choosing to lean against the adjacent wall. The man heaved a sigh, running a hand through his rather messy brown hair before once again fixing Merlin with a worried look.

"I didn't think you were able to do something like that," he said, his mind still obviously on the whole blowing-up-a-wall thing. "At least not anymore."

"It was an accident. It just sort of happened. I probably couldn't do it again even if I tried." The warlock looked down at his hands where they were resting against his legs. He curled and uncurled his fingers a few times, trying to shake off the slight tingling sensation he could still feel while at the same time wishing it would never go away. For just the briefest of moments, he had been able to feel his magic rushing through him, rising up along with his frustration. It had come out as a pure rush of power, wild and uncontrolled, but he had finally been able to reach it.

Of course, he had paid the price for it afterwards, but the pain had been worth it. He had missed that feeling. He hadn't realized how empty and alone he would feel without it until it had suddenly been taken from him. That was one of the first things that had happened upon his arrival to the fortress. His new _owner_ had immediately taken what had looked like just an ordinary silver cuff and clamped it around his right arm, just below his elbow. He hadn't understood what it was for at first, but the moment the metal had touched his skin, he had felt the familiar warmth of his magic vanish, retreating deep inside of him to a place where he couldn't touch it. It had become nothing more than a gentle brush at the very recesses of his being, still there but too far away for him to reach.

Apparently it hadn't been just a silver band. It wasn't "silver" at all aside from its color. It was some sort of rare metal, foreign and hard to find with a strange name he couldn't remember, and it had the irritating and completely natural ability to suppress magic.

When that gentle thrum of power had first dimmed and retreated, he had instantly tried to draw it to the surface only to find that doing so _hurt_. Trying to pull his magic up while the band around his arm kept pushing it down had resulted in feeling like he was being torn apart. Needless to say he had stopped immediately and had only tried a few other times before deciding it was pointless. He couldn't focus while in that much pain, so having access to his magic wouldn't do him much good anyway.

However, what none of them had taken into account with the whole magic suppression thing was that Merlin wasn't like other sorcerers. His magic was practically a living, breathing part of him, and it was impossible to separate it from him completely. He was still capable of simple spells, like unlocking his cell door. He could still move things as well and could probably even throw people back without it hurting too much. Anything more though was beyond him at the moment, and it's not like he could just take the cuff off. It was far too thick—at least an inch, and probably about four in length—to break, and it refused to slide down his arm at all no matter how hard he tried. He was unfortunately stuck with it for the foreseeable future.

"…I'm sorry."

Merlin's head shot up, surprised at the soft apology. Rordan was no longer watching him, his attention focused on the floor. He looked riddled with guilt, his shoulders hunched and his head bowed.

"Why are you apologizing?" he asked a bit cautiously, confused, because he was pretty sure that the guard hadn't done anything wrong. It's not like he could just let him go, and Merlin certainly didn't expect him to. If he gets caught while trying to escape, that's his problem and his fault. He doesn't want help, and he would never ask for it, because that would just put them in danger. This time around it had been Rordan who found him, and he knew that the guard didn't like having to put him back in a cell, but that was his job, and that was just fine. He had no reason to feel guilty about it.

"Because you could escape easily," Rordan said, his voice rising with each word. "I know that if you wanted to, you could just push right past us. You could probably even kill us if you wanted, despite that stupid cuff—you blew up a _wall_, for God's sake—but you don't even try! You let yourself get caught every time, and none of us can do anything about it even though it's _our_ fault in the first place, and—!"

"Rordan. _Rordan_, calm down."

Merlin was on his feet now, arms raised in a calming gesture, trying to get his friend to stop yelling and to just take a few breaths. When the guard had finally settled down a bit, Merlin walked over to the wall and stood next to him, neither one of them making eye contact.

"You don't have to apologize," Merlin told him, needing to break the silence as well as reassure his friend (and they were friends, because he couldn't think of another word for it). "You haven't done anything wrong."

"…But I'm right, aren't I? The reason you haven't escaped is because you can't do it without hurting us, right?"

Merlin just bit his lip and turned away, not wanting to answer that. He didn't want to admit that Rordan was right, because that would just make the man feel even worse. However, it was the truth. These men weren't evil even if their lord was, and he wasn't about to harm them when they hadn't done anything wrong. Plus…most of them had families, children. When he thought about it like that, he found he couldn't even push them back for fear of hurting them (his magic was incredibly unstable if the earlier incident was anything to go by). He didn't want to be responsible for destroying a family, for taking a father away. Most of these men were good people who were just looking out for the ones they loved, and they didn't deserve to suffer for it, so even if that meant that his escape plans would most likely always end in failure, then so be it.

Besides, even if he _was_ a heartless, evil sorcerer, he'd probably still get caught. After all, it's not like he was really capable of much magic at the moment (and what little he could do would leave him exhausted and drained before ever reaching the gates).

"…Thank you."

Startled once more, Merlin turned his attention back to Rordan, staring at the man in utter bewilderment. First he was apologizing and now he was thanking him, and the warlock had no idea why. It's not like he had done anything. He was probably making everyone's lives more difficult in the long run.

"For what?" he finally asked.

"Just…for everything. For not attacking us, for understanding. You have every right to hate us, but you don't, and we're all thankful for that. The others wanted me to make sure you knew how grateful we are. I just wish there was something we could do for you. You're a good man, Merlin, and you don't deserve this."

"It's alright. You don't need to worry about it. It's _my_ fault I'm in this mess in the first place."

"Still, I wish we could help you. We…we can't disobey our orders, but if nothing else, we'll at least continue to look out for you."

Merlin couldn't help but smile at that. Those words were a promise, earnest and genuine, and he knew that Rordan was speaking for all of the guards that the warlock had gotten to know and perhaps even some he hadn't. By now most of them probably knew what he was doing, that he was simply choosing not to attack them. Quite a few of them had caught on rather quickly, and ever since then they had gone out of their way to be kind to him. He was given water regularly, sometimes more than he needed and even during the times when his captor had told them not to give him any. They always found ways to get him extra food too, far more than a prisoner was usually allowed to have. If they were ever ordered to rough him up a bit, they always pretended, and if it happened to be done by one of the _other_ guards, one of them would always come to see him afterwards to make sure he was alright and treat the worst of his injuries.

He knew that he couldn't ask them to let him go; the repercussions would be too great, but it was enough to know that they wanted to, that they would if there was no way of it leading back to them. As much as he hated this, he understood, and he didn't blame them. They were doing what they could to repay him for his sacrifices, and that was enough.

"Thank you," he said before walking back across the room, heading for the cot. "You should probably be getting back. Someone might notice you're gone."

"…Alright."

Merlin watched as Rordan walked rather slowly towards the door, obviously reluctant to leave quite yet. He paused just as he was about to push it open, giving the warlock one final glance.

"Just be careful, Merlin."

"I'm always careful." That earned him a small smile and an amused huff before Rordan opened the heavy metal door and then closed it quietly behind him. The sound of a lock clicking into place filled the dark, empty cell, and Merlin couldn't help but sigh. It's not like locking the door would do any good. He could easily open it, although he needed at least a day or two to recover first. Even using just the smallest amount of magic left him feeling drained.

With nothing better to do, the warlock decided to simply lie back and wait for what he knew was coming.

He didn't have to wait long. Even before he heard the rattling of the keys, he had heard the heavy footsteps thundering down the hall. When the lock clicked once again and the metal door scraped across the stone floor, he heaved one last sigh and prepared himself for yet another confrontation.

"Well now," came the overly smug, almost lilting voice of his captor, "how's my favorite prisoner?"

Merlin didn't say anything, pretending to be asleep, but not a moment later the sound of boots pounding against the floor alerted him to his visitor's approach. He knew what was coming, even braced himself for it, but he couldn't help the small flare of panic as a rather large and very powerful hand wrapped around his neck, squeezing just enough to get his attention and to make breathing a bit difficult. Merlin was well aware that those hands could easily break him, could snap his neck like a mere twig, but despite the fact that he didn't look it, the man was patient and strategic. Still, the warlock couldn't help but wonder sometimes what would happen to him if that patience ever decided to run out. One day it would happen, of that he had no doubt. Already the man's control was wavering.

Merlin was forced to open his eyes as the hand around his throat squeezed just a little more, causing him to gasp before the pressure lessened. He did his best to glare at the face hovering above him, those dark eyes narrow in irritation and his lips forming an ugly sneer.

"You'd do well to remember your manners, _boy_," he snarled. "I expect a proper greeting."

With no fear and no hesitation, eyes hard and set with his own special brand of arrogance, Merlin forced his expression into something calm and indifferent and perhaps just the slightest bit amused.

"Hello, _Bar_ragh."

No titles, no submission, no respect. He didn't deserve it, and there was no reason to give it. After all, this man needed him alive.

What was the worst he could do?

* * *

**A/N:** That's all for now. I hope you all enjoyed it :) There shall be more Merlin next time, and some of Arthur as well.

I wanted to quickly say thank you for all the reviews. I tried to reply to the ones I could (hope I didn't forget any), and thank you for some of the replies back. Sorry I didn't reply to the replies. This is probably going to seem silly (but by now I'm sure most of you have realized that I worry a lot about...well, everything), but I wasn't sure if I would seem like a bother if I did. I like talking to people, but I don't want anyone to feel like they're obligated to converse with me or anything. Yes, I have a few social phobias (and there is someone to blame for that). Feel free to tell me if I'm just being silly and paranoid, because I get the sneaking suspicion that I probably am...

Anyway, that's all for now! Please drop a review if you can. I won't ask or beg, but I do love to know what you all think :) Feel free to ask questions too even if I may not always answer them.

Oh, and a hypothetical batch of cookies to anyone who can guess what the "silver" metal is. It does have a name. I may or may not mention it in the fic (haven't written that far ahead yet). Just wanted to see if anyone knew what it was :)

Until next week!


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** Hello :) Before I say anything else, I just really want to say thank you! Seriously, I never expected this kind of reception for this fic. You've all made me immensely happy. Thank you so much!  
I think I was able to get through all the review responses, and the ones I couldn't respond to directly, I'm going to do at the end of the chapter, both for the reviews for CH 1 and CH 2. I did it for both Healing Spells and Beyond the Vale, so I figured I'd do it this time too, because I like responding and answering questions (and just generally saying thanks :)

**Title: **Of Twisted Morals and Human Weaponry  
**Author: **BeyondTheStorm  
**Rating: **T for...well, a lot of things. Some language, some violence, the whole general situation, a bit of torture, etc.  
**Characters/pairings:** The cast is as follows: Merlin, Arthur, an antagonist, two guards with names, and a few without. Merlin and Arthur are the main focus of this story. Oh, and no pairings. Only friendship here, though if you want to read more into it, feel free. Whatever floats your boat.  
**Spoilers: **Um...none, as far as I know.  
**Warnings: **Abuse, a bit of torture, me being descriptive  
**What to expect:** Bromance, introspection, angst, some whump, H/C, lots of drama, lots of worrying...oh, and some magic. Can't forget the magic :)

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Merlin :)

Hope you like the chapter. It's part Merlin's POV, part Arthur's.

Onward!

* * *

CHAPTER 3

When the glaring face above him twisted into an enraged snarl, it suddenly dawned on Merlin that maybe he had finally pushed things a bit too far. That thought was further proven when Barragh lifted him from the bed by just his neck and slammed him into the wall, knocking the breath from him. The man simply held him there, his grip tight but not quite suffocating. Merlin raised his arms and tried to pry the hand away from his throat, but the mountain of a man was probably a hundred times stronger than he was. As much as he hated to admit it, he was at his mercy.

"Is that any way to talk to your master?" the lord snarled.

"You're _not_ my master," he snapped right back, and despite the fist that slammed into his stomach, he didn't regret those words. There was only one person he would ever serve, and nothing this oaf could do would change that.

"You certainly are a cheeky little bastard. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised, given what you are. I find that most sorcerers tend to be too arrogant for their own good…but we can fix that."

The lord's free hand moved to grip the warlock's arm, right where the metal brace was. He squeezed it tightly, pushing it into the skin until Merlin couldn't help but cringe against the pressure.

"It must be quite painful having your magic suppressed like this. I've placed one of these on every sorcerer I've ever caught, but I imagine it must be a thousand times worse for someone like you. The kind of power you possess is unheard of, inhuman. When you were first brought here, Neirin told me that you have more magic in a single finger than most have in their entire body. He's completely useless when it comes to magic, but he knows how to sense it, and he has never once been wrong."

He eased his grip, no longer pushing down, but his hold still remained tight in both places, so Merlin kept silent. There was no point in setting him off again, at least not yet. Besides, the warlock didn't have a comment to make. He knew it was all true even if he didn't always believe it. He was aware of how different his magic was—how different _he_ was—from other magic users. Both Gaius and the dragon had referred to him as a "creature of magic," which was probably a much more accurate description than calling him a "sorcerer." Most sorcerers could train for their whole lives and still never achieve even a fraction of what he was potentially capable of.

In the wrong hands, that kind of power would be devastating…and that was exactly what Barragh wanted.

"I could take it off, you know," the man said, his voice much softer, the words coming out in what could almost be considered a purr (as disturbing as that thought was, he couldn't think of a better word for it). "I can put an end to your pain, to the emptiness. I could give you anything you wanted, offer you an entire kingdom if you so desired. You would never want for anything ever again, and all you have to do is pledge your magic to me. Your fealty in exchange for your freedom. I can promise that if you make the pledge of your own free will that you shall be treated well."

It was the same thing once again, the same pretty but empty words of a power hungry man. How many times had he been made this offer? This was probably the fifth or sixth time that Barragh had asked him, so how many was that in total? Too many, in his opinion, and everyone always received the same answer. He wasn't interested in power and riches or in ruling the world. All he wanted was to protect the people he cared about and to see Camelot prosper under Arthur's rule. He didn't need fame or fortune or even recognition for his deeds. He just hoped to one day be accepted for what he was and what he could do, and he would wait for that time to come. He didn't need anything else.

"I already told you," he began, his voice level and firm as he stared down his captor, meeting that piercing gaze unwaveringly. "I pledged my life to another a long time ago. My magic is for him and him alone, and there is _nothing_ you can offer me that will change that. You will _never_ have my loyalty."

The hand around his throat tightened violently, choking him, fingers digging into his neck. He tried to draw in air, clawing at the arm that held him, and before he knew what was happening, Barragh threw him to the ground. Merlin could do nothing but lie there, coughing between breaths. His whole body hurt, and he would likely be covered in bruises come morning. He was used to being pushed around by the power-hungry lord, but there was something a bit different about this encounter.

For a moment there, it had looked like Barragh was about to completely snap. Even now the man looked infuriated but oddly determined, as if he had just reached some kind of conclusion. Without warning, he kicked the warlock right in the stomach, and Merlin began coughing anew, curling in on himself in order to prevent another attack. His keeper simply glared down at him, eyes filled with fire.

"I tried to be nice," he began, his voice shaking with barely contained fury. "I made sure that any serious wounds you received were treated properly. I've given you clean clothing, food, water. I made sure you were treated well, because you'd be of no use to me dead. I even offered you a way out, but since you seem so determined to decline my hospitality, I believe a new approach is in order. I refrained from punishing you too harshly because I wasn't sure if you could endure too much _physical persuasion_, but if you're still this willful and defiant…I'm sure you'll survive."

He could hear Barragh making his way to the door, but the mountain of a man stopped just as he opened it, and from his place on the floor, Merlin couldn't see his face. He imagined the lord was smirking in that angry yet self-satisfied way of his.

"As punishment for trying to escape and for your blatant disrespect, you'll receive five lashings, and if you _ever_ try something like that again, I'll make sure it's ten, and _I'll_ be the one holding the whip."

With that said, the door to his cell slammed shut, the lock clicking into place, and Merlin found that he was once again on his own, and this time there was no way out. He was alone in the dark, and he found that he didn't even have the strength to get off the floor. All along he had known that a day like this would come, that eventually Barragh would get tired of being denied and would decide to try and force him into submission. It had always been a possibility. Seeing as how all his other attempts had failed, the man was running out of options. Since he couldn't seem to get what he wanted by asking nicely, apparently he was going to resort to torture.

After all, pain could be very persuading.

Merlin suddenly found himself dreading the next time that door would open. He had _never_ been flogged before, although he knew that under different circumstances he probably would have been. Had he been anyone else's servant, he was sure his insolence would have earned him a couple lashings at the least, but Arthur wasn't that kind of master. In fact, other than occasionally throwing something at him, the prince never really punished him for anything. Sure, he had been thrown in the stocks a few times, but it was usually Uther who was responsible for that. For the most part, Merlin was a rather fortunate servant (although he would never admit that Arthur was actually _good_ to him, even though he kind of was).

Just like they had many times during the past month, Merlin found his thoughts turning towards Camelot. He couldn't help but wonder what was happening there, if everyone was alright. The kingdom was always being attacked, and without him there to protect it, what if something had happened? Surely he would have received some sort of news if that were the case. The guards would have certainly mentioned it, but he couldn't help worrying anyway. Was everyone there doing alright? Certainly they had to have noticed that he was missing, that something was wrong. Were they worried? Did they miss him? Did Arthur miss him? Was anyone trying to find him?

Was _Arthur_ trying to find him?

He desperately hoped he wasn't (even though a part of him hoped that he was, that he cared enough to try). Arthur needed to be in Camelot, needed to stay safe, and even though the castle wasn't exactly the safest place while Merlin was away, it was better than the forests and the outer villages. Any number of things could happen to the prince while he was away, like getting attacked by bandits or wild animals or some magical creature. Without Merlin there to subtly take care of things, Arthur would be vulnerable. What if something happened in his absence?

What if Arthur were to get himself killed all because Merlin had been too much of an idiot to not notice such an obvious trap?

No matter what, he needed to find a way out of here. Even if he received a hundred lashings, he needed to get back to Camelot, back to Arthur, but as long as that stupid brace was still clamped around his arm, he was completely helpless. Even if he gave it everything he had and actually tried to fight off the guards, he would probably collapse long before he ever made it outside the castle.

There was nothing he could do but wait this out and hope for an opportunity to present itself. He would simply have to pray that in the mean time, Arthur would be smart for once and not go looking for trouble.

It was truly unfortunate that he already knew how well _that_ would turn out.

* * *

After having managed to catch at least a few hours of sleep, however fretful they had been, Arthur was eventually awoken by the sound of metal creaking. His eyes snapped open and he immediately sat up straight, wincing when his neck cracked due to being in such an uncomfortable position for so long. He quickly rubbed at his eyes, trying to get rid of the blurriness, and once he felt a little more awake, he looked over to the door of his cell. A guard had just come in bearing a plate of food and a cup which likely contained water. There was another guard standing just outside the cell, and once his comrade was completely in, he shut and locked the door behind him.

"I'll be just down the hall, so yell when you're done," he said before walking off, his footsteps eventually fading into nothing. The other guard just smiled before making his way over towards Arthur.

Even though his body was starting to protest the position he was sitting in, the prince didn't really feel much like moving. Instead he stayed exactly where he was, his eyes never leaving the man approaching him. Unlike his previous visitor, this one was fairly young, perhaps just a year or two older than himself. He also had a rather friendly appearance if the smile was anything to go by. It wasn't smug or amused nor did it seem to be in any way forced or fake. His soft features certainly helped with that, with hair the color of sand and eyes that were bright and clear.

Now that he thought about it, the guard he had seen earlier had been rather young too, as had the other from just a moment ago, and they all seemed pretty clean cut, almost proper.

Why was it that Barragh, nobleman that he was, looked like a common thug while his guards looked like they could possibly pass as nobility?

"Sorry I woke you," the man said, and astonishingly enough, it seemed like he actually meant it. Be that as it may, he was still a guard and still worked for Barragh, and so Arthur wasn't all that inclined to be anything less than wary. However, it was true that until he could come up with some kind of plan, he was at the mercy of his captors. Therefore it was probably best to try and not be overly hostile regardless of how frustrating the whole situation was.

Besides, this guard was clearly making an attempt to be polite. At the very least he could try and be somewhat civil. Maybe it would even play to his benefit. In order to come up with a plan, he needed information. The guards were a good enough place to start.

"Here," the young man said, setting the tray and cup down in front of the prince. "I thought you might be hungry. They probably didn't feed you on the way here."

No, they hadn't, seeing as how he had been unconscious through most of the trip. He probably hadn't had a decent meal in days (because dry, stale bread and whatever he could find out in the woods didn't really qualify as a meal). Though he couldn't quite feel it at the moment, it was probably safe to say that he was more than a little hungry.

Arthur finally shifted from his position against the wall, his body protesting against the movement. Everything was stiff and sore, but he ignored it as best he could and reached out to slide the tray closer, picking up the cup and taking a short sip. As much as he wanted to down the whole thing, he knew he needed to ration it. This was probably all the water he'd be getting for a while.

"No need to hold back. I can easily get you more. I mean, it's not like we plan on depriving you or anything. Well, Barragh might, but what he doesn't know won't hurt him."

"What?" He couldn't keep the word from slipping out, shocked at what the guard had just divulged (and so flippantly too). As arrogant as the lord was, Barragh was still in charge—was still this man's _master_, in a sense—and yet he spoke so easily about disobeying him and going behind his back. He didn't seem ashamed or worried in the slightest.

Apparently the self-proclaimed weapons trader wasn't very popular even amongst his own men.

"I said you don't need to worry," the man said with a smile. "Eat and drink as much as you want, and if it's not enough, I'll get more. Trust me, I've had plenty of practice. Most of us have, actually, and Barragh has never once noticed."

Arthur's eyes narrowed as he stared at the guard, his defenses going up once more.

"…Why?" He couldn't help being suspicious. This wasn't normal behavior for a guard, someone who was meant to watch over the prisoners and protect the castle. There was no reason to be so accommodating or civil. What was the point in aiding the enemy? What was in it for him?

The guard simply stared back at him, confused.

"Why what?"

…_Is he serious?_

"Why would you go out of your way to help me? What's in it for you?"

There had to be something. Maybe it was all a trick, a clever plan to lure him into a false sense of security (not that _that_ was likely to happen). Perhaps he was giving him food now just to deprive him of it later, or maybe he was merely trying to confuse him as some strange new form of torture…and okay, Arthur was aware that that didn't make a whole lot of sense, but there just _had_ to be a reason, something other than what it seemed, because there was just no way that this man was _that_ kind of person. He couldn't be. After all, _Merlin_ was the only man he knew who was gormless enough to try and befriend someone in such a ridiculously fashion, without even knowing the first thing about them and during a situation where it was completely uncalled for. Guards and prisoners, for all intents and purposes, were supposed to be enemies—it was common sense!

"Just because Barragh's holding you prisoner doesn't make you a bad person. If anything, it' probably the opposite. Besides, what's wrong with being nice to people? I'm just trying to help."

…Alright, so he had been wrong. Apparently there _were_ other people in the world with the same mentality as Merlin.

A rather frightening thought, that.

"Oh, sorry, I forgot to introduce myself. I'm Owyn."

The guard, Owyn, even went as far as to offer his hand to Arthur, who simply stared at him as if he were insane. The prince actually found himself at a complete loss for once. He had no idea how to react to such a ridiculous act of friendliness when nothing about their situation was meant to be friendly. He was a prisoner, being held for ransom, and Owyn was a bloody _guard_. Was this man mentally afflicted or something?

When Arthur didn't take the offered handshake, Owyn heaved a sigh and let his arm fall back to his side, his expression changing to one of slight exasperation. Honestly, if anyone should be feeling exasperated, it was Arthur. None of this was making any sense!

"Look," Owyn began, "I know you probably don't trust me. I wasn't really expecting you to, and I certainly don't blame you for being suspicious. I meant what I said though. I mean you no harm. Most of us don't. It's really just Barragh and the few who are close to him that you need to be wary of, like Neirin. Ugly fellow—mostly brawn, but he's got enough of a brain to be a bootlicker. Horrible brute, that one, but not to worry. You likely won't see much of him."

Arthur tried to open his mouth to say something but found himself rather lost for words. It wasn't often that a person could render him speechless. In fact, he couldn't really remember a time where someone actually had. There was a tiny voice in the back of his head, one that sounded a great deal like Merlin, laughing at how he couldn't form even a single word. _Never thought I'd see the day when the great Prince Arthur didn't have anything to say,_ or something like that. Indeed, that idiot would definitely be laughing if he could see him now.

The fact that there was no laughter, no snide remarks, no amused grin, made him realize once more with a startling, cruel clarity, just how alone he really was.

For such a long time now (or at least it _seemed _like a long time), Merlin had always been by his side, whether he was wanted there or not. No matter where he went or what he faced, Merlin had always been there to keep him company. Even when Arthur told him to stay behind, Merlin always came with anyway, always followed him. He was _always_ there, and Arthur felt his chest tighten at the sudden, unwelcoming thought that it might never be that way again. Merlin was gone, and unless he could find him, there would be no more insolence, no more banter, no wise words or clumsy mishaps or endearing smiles ever again.

It came as something of a shock just how painful that thought was and how greatly he missed the constant presence at his side. He _missed_ Merlin.

"Hey."

He snapped his attention back to Owyn, trying to hide whatever evidence he had shown of his inner turmoil, but he clearly hadn't done it quickly enough, because his current companion was watching him with something that looked a great deal like concern.

"You okay?" he asked. "You sort of spaced out for a moment there."

"I'm fine," the prince replied shortly, distracting himself by picking up a chunk of bread and taking a bite. Just one was enough to make him realize just how hungry he trult was, and without even considering whether it was appropriate behavior or not (no one was around to scold him for it, after all), he began to wolf down the food in front of him. There was really no need to bother with finesse; it wouldn't get him anywhere. Besides, it's not like he cared much about any of these people's opinions anyway.

Eventually he noticed that Owyn was watching him, a smile on his face.

"I guess you were pretty hungry," he said, his voice tinted with amusement. "Soon as you're done, I'll go get more. I'll bring water too."

Arthur swallowed his current mouthful and then merely stared at the young man before him again, still a bit wary and more than a little confused.

"Why are you being so…?" he began, unsure exactly how to phrase his question.

"So what?"

"So…_nice_?" It was the only word that seemed to fit. It pretty much summed up Owyn's unnatural behavior while dealing with a prisoner. Honestly, what sort of captor willingly offered up extra food and water to the people they were supposed to be guarding? And what kind of guard acted so friendly towards a hostage? The man made no sense!

To his surprise, the smile on Owyn's face slipped a bit, becoming something almost sad, melancholy.

"…We're really not that different from you—most of us, anyway. If I had made even one wrong move, I imagine I'd be in a similar situation. Sometimes I think it might be better if I were."

"What are you talking about?"

For the first time during the encounter, the young man met his eyes without a trace of humor, his stare nothing short of grave.

"Just because we can walk these halls freely, can come and go as we please…it doesn't mean we're free. For all intents and purposes, we're all prisoners here. Our cell just happens to be a bit bigger than yours."

Arthur just sat there for a moment, trying to process what he had been told, but when he finally opened his mouth to ask a question, he was immediately cut off by some rather frantic shouting. Both he and Owyn turned to look out into the hall as the sound of footsteps resounded down the corridor, followed by even more yelling.

"Owyn!"

Without a word, Owyn made his way across the cell just as the other guard from earlier came running up to the door, immediately unlocking it and throwing it open. He grabbed Owyn by the arm and practically pulled him out of the cell before quickly locking it up behind him. Through it all, Arthur merely sat there and watched them, wondering why the other guard looked so flustered and terrified. The concern pouring off him was almost tangible.

The man began to speak rather quickly, his voice too quiet for Arthur to be able to eavesdrop on their conversation. Whatever he was saying though couldn't be anything good, because in no time at all, Owyn's eyes had widened in what looked like fear but was probably closer to disbelief or even outrage.

"_Flogged_?" he suddenly yelled, obviously forgetting to keep his voice down, but that one word was enough to draw Arthur's complete attention, and he found himself trying harder to hear what they were saying.

"Y-yes, that's what he said. When I heard, I knew I had to tell you."

"Damn it…why now?"

"Barragh wants to teach him a lesson for trying to escape. He said he's tired of it, that the next time it happens, he'll make it ten."

"…Who did he ask to…?

"…Neirin."

Another soft curse followed by a lot of frantic shifting, as if he wanted to start pacing but couldn't.

"There's no way he'll go easy. Why couldn't it have been one of _us_?"

"W-what should we do?"

"…Find Rordan. Find him and make sure he knows what's going on. Tell him to meet me in the armory. We might not be able to stop it, but at the very least…we can be there for him afterwards."

"…Alright."

With a slight bow, the guard ran off down the hallway, leaving Arthur alone with Owyn once again, but the rather cheerful, friendly young man he had first met had vanished. In his place was someone who looked like he wanted nothing more than to slam his fist into a wall (or into Barragh, though it was likely to make little difference as far as potentially breaking his hand went. The latter would certainly be more satisfying though). He was clearly angry, but at the same time he was focused, eyes nothing short of determined. He quickly glanced back into the cell, and Arthur found himself staring into an expression filled with both righteous fury and overwhelming guilt, though he didn't quite understand the second one.

"I'm sorry, but there's something I've got to take care of," he said. "I'll come back once I'm done, promise."

Before Arthur could get in a single word, Owyn fled down the hallway, leaving him alone with nothing but his own thoughts for company. If he had been confused before, it was nothing compared to now. His mind was whirling with questions, unable to keep himself from being curious about that last hushed conversation. Had they been talking about the prisoner that Barragh had mentioned earlier, the one who kept escaping? Were there other prisoners here as well, and if there were, why hadn't he seen any of them? There were other cells all around him, and yet he seemed to be the only one in this part of the dungeons. Why?

And just what was so special about this other prisoner that the guards were all up in arms about him being flogged?

When Owyn returned (and wasn't it rather odd that Arthur found himself trusting in the fact that he _would_ return), he would have a _lot_ of questions for him.

* * *

**A/N:** That's all for today. I hope you guys liked the chapter. This completes the cast for this fic (Neirin doesn't really count, because he likely won't be seen, only mentioned. I had to give him a name because it was too awkward to try and refer to him with just nouns. It would've been rather silly too :)

Again, thank you for all the reviews, and thanks just for reading :) Please feel free to tell me what you think, even if it's criticism. I don't care, just so long as it's done politely and as long as you're willing to accept a rebutal of a sort in return ;)

Responses: I said I would, so I'm going to :) I really do appreciate every review, so I want to be able to respond to all of them. I'll go in order, starting from chapter one (since I forgot to do it last time) with the exceptions of the ones I already responded to (the anonymous ones that have accounts :) Oh, and I tend to ramble, so depending on what was said, the responses might get a little long...

Guest: Thanks for the review :) True, though I hope I covered the reason why he hasn't been able to. For all his power, Merlin really isn't invulnerable, and I like playing on that in my fics :) One of the reasons that I never specified a specific time frame for when this fic is set was to actually avoid issues like the Great Dragon and Morgana (neither of which will probably be mentioned at all in this fic if I can get away with it :) Figured I should cover all my bases, just in case :)

Cinnimania: Thanks! I'm glad you like it :) I'm rather enjoying myself now. Once I get back into things, I tend to stop worrying quite so much (though it's nice to know I'm not the only one :) Fear has definitely been enough to keep me from posting before (and there are some things from long ago that I wish I _had_ been too afraid to post :) And hey, even just reading and reviewing is fun (I tend to do far too much of the first and never enough of the latter). It's all part of the joy that is fanfiction :)

Guest: Thanks for the review :) Yes, Arthur can tend to be a bit bad at connecting the dots (he's a bit thick, but we still love him for it). Though I won't say for certain what will happen in this fic, I will say that there shall be all kinds of whump and lots of bromance. Two of the best things, in my opinion :) I have lots of plans, and I hope I can keep people guessing as far as what's going to happen. Surprises are rather fun, after all :)

Paul: Thanks for the review, though I'm sorry you feel that way. However, I do want to answer your question, as it's one I haven't been asked yet :) My first reason is simple: I only write what I like, and when it comes to my writing, I don't cater to anyone. The second is _because_ it rarely happens in the series. That's half the point of fanfiction, to write and read the things you never get/would've liked to see. The last reason is that I view fanfiction as a challenge :) I have written multiple novels, but writing fanfiction is something altogether different. For me, it's about putting the characters into situations that are difficult, that they haven't been in, and seeing how well I can keep them in character. I also like trying to develop them, especially Arthur and especially in regards to his bond with Merlin (I adore friendships like theirs :) I would just be terribly bored if I tried to force myself to write something similar to what I've already seen in the series or just something I don't particularly care for. Trust me: forcing myself to write something never turns out well :) I've tried.

Kira: Thanks! Glad you're enjoying it :) Haha, no worries. I say things like that all the time :) I suppose it's probably pretty obvious that I like whump too. My sister calls it being sadistic, but she's hardly any better :) And I suppose you were partially right about it. After all, I can't not whump him given the situation I've placed him in. It'll be a week until the next chapter, but it'll definitely be happening then. Hopefully it'll be worth the wait :)


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** Totally watched the new episode of Merlin (had to wait until Sunday since I couldn't download it Saturday 'till after work)! I won't say anything about it other than the fact that I loved it :)

**Title: **Of Twisted Morals and Human Weaponry  
**Author: **BeyondTheStorm  
**Rating: **T for...well, a lot of things. Some language, some violence, the whole general situation, a bit of torture, etc.  
**Characters/pairings:** The cast is as follows: Merlin, Arthur, an antagonist, two guards with names, and a few without. Merlin and Arthur are the main focus of this story. Oh, and no pairings. Only friendship here, though if you want to read more into it, feel free. Whatever floats your boat.  
**Spoilers: **Um...none, as far as I know.  
**Warnings: **Abuse, a bit of torture, me being descriptive  
**What to expect:** Bromance, introspection, angst, some whump, H/C, lots of drama, lots of worrying...oh, and some magic. Can't forget the magic :)

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Merlin :)

So...this chapter didn't end anywhere near where I wanted it too (it would have been _way_ too long if I had tried), but I still like it nonetheless :) Hope you all will too.

Onward!

* * *

CHAPTER 4

When the whip cracked for the fifth and final time, tearing one last cry from his throat, Merlin found himself slumping against the wall in front of him until his knees hit the floor. If not for the manacles around his wrists, their chains anchored above him, he likely would have been lying on it instead. He felt sick to his stomach, wishing that the darkness creeping into his vision would just hurry up already, because passing out seemed like his best choice at the moment. His back felt like it was on fire—each lashing had come hard and fast, tearing into his skin, cutting it open.

Never had he experienced pain quite like this. His whole body was trembling, and it felt like he couldn't catch his breath. As undignified as he probably looked right now, hunched over and kneeling with his forehead pressed against the wall, he was in no mood to move. In fact, he was perfectly fine staying exactly where he was if it meant not having to risk stretching the wounds on his back. All five lines were bleeding; he _knew_ they were, could feel the blood slowly flowing from each one.

The man who had wielded the whip, Neirin, hadn't held back. He had put all his strength into each strike while Barragh had stood there watching, encouraging the man to give it everything he had. In fact, the two of them were still watching him, and if he hadn't been in so much pain, he would've liked to glare at them both, to let them know that just because they had gotten the best of him this time didn't mean that he would be giving in anytime soon. He had meant what he had said to Barragh earlier: the man would never have his loyalty. There was no way he would ever help such a heartless, narcissistic psychopath. He'd rather die.

"Well, boy," he heard the lord say from behind him, sounding almost pleased with himself, "I hope you've learned your lesson. Remember, the next time you try to escape, I'll make it ten."

Beyond the pain and the sound of his own harsh breathing, the warlock heard the sound of metal scraping against stone and saw a stream of light entering the room before eventually fading away. There was a loud thud and a soft click, and Merlin knew that they were finally gone. He quickly reached for what little magic that was available to him, trying to use it to ease the pain or to unlock his shackles—just _something_ so that he could feel that familiar, comforting warmth flowing through him again. Unfortunately his magic wouldn't listen to him, wouldn't rise to the surface, and if he tried to force it, he'd be in even more pain than he already was (and no matter what, he couldn't let himself get frustrated again, because _that_ certainly hadn't worked out in his favor, and he wasn't too inclined to risk potentially blowing _himself_ up this time).

In the end he had no choice but to let his magic recede once more, and it felt like his insides had suddenly gone cold without it. It was an unbelievably lonely feeling. He wondered for a moment if this was what it felt like to be someone without magic, to constantly feel like there was something missing…but of course, that was just silly, because most people didn't know what it felt like to have magic in the first place. You couldn't very well miss something that had never actually been there to begin with, now could you?

Merlin sucked in a sharp breath, letting it out in a broken sigh, wishing all the while that there was something he could do to make the situation a little less horrible than it was. The warlock was completely alone in a cold, dark cell, chained to the wall and held up by only his wrists while tendrils of what felt like fire licked at his back. Each slice burned, and he honestly couldn't imagine having to endure ten. What if Barragh decided to add five more every time he tried and failed to escape? How many lashings could a normal person survive?

How many could someone like _him _survive?

He was really starting to wish that he had been a little more careful, that he hadn't pressed his luck so many times no matter how satisfying it had been at first. In the beginning he had reveled in the looks of irritation and the angry shouting from his keeper, because he had known that despite all the threats, nothing would come of them. The weapons dealer needed him alive, and so Merlin hadn't bothered to heed any of his warnings or take his words seriously. Instead he had continued in his quest to escape the castle, much to the amusement of some of the guards, but apparently even Barragh had a limit of what he was willing to put up with. Blowing his cell door off the hinges had apparently been the final straw. That or seven just really wasn't his lucky number.

It would be a while now before he could try for eight, and even though he didn't want to think about it, a ninth would take even longer (and no, he _wasn't_ a masochist, honestly, no matter how many of his actions might claim otherwise. He just cared more about progress than consequences at the moment, that's all).

Merlin wasn't sure just how much time passed between Barragh's exit and the next time his cell door opened, but he found he didn't much care. He must have passed out or zoned out at some point though, because the pain had faded slightly since the last time light had spilled into the room. It still hurt worse than anything he had ever gone through, but at least it no longer felt like someone had set his back on fire.

Through the haze that came with both exhaustion and pain, he was able to hear a sharp gasp followed by the sound of hurried footsteps as well as a soft clattering, much like the sound a bucket made when hitting the floor (something he was all too familiar with). _Someone must have dropped something,_ he mused as his thoughts waded sluggishly through his pain-addled mind. _Must've been in a hurry. Too many chores, maybe… I know what that's like._

Before his mind could stray any farther, there was a light touch against the side of his face, carefully forcing his head to turn to the side where he met a pair of rather concerned brown eyes. It only took him a moment to figure out who they belonged to.

"Rordan?" he queried softly, earning him a nod in response.

There was suddenly another gentle touch, this time against his bound wrists. He glanced up to see a head of light colored hair, somewhere between brown and blond, and a set of very focused green eyes.

"Owyn?"

"Just hold on, Merlin," he said while slipping a key into the lock for the manacles. "We'll have you out of these in no time."

As soon as the shackles were off, the warlock just let his arms drop and slumped forward against the wall. He likely would have fallen completely to the floor if not for Rordan. The guard had wrapped one arm around his shoulders and the other was across his waist, holding him up. In no time Owyn was kneeling on his other side, reaching out to help support him.

"Alright, let's get you to the bed," he said, his voice light, but there was an underlying tone, one that sounded a lot like anger but was probably closer to concern. Merlin was rather familiar with it. After all, that's usually how Arthur sounded when he was worried (or upset, or nervous, or hurt, or…well, a lot of things, really. It was pretty much his default response to everything).

Between the two of them, they managed to get him to his feet even though he couldn't seem to find the strength to stand on his own. His body's lack of cooperation thankfully didn't hinder them any as they were perfectly capable of bearing his weight. They managed to get him to the bed without much difficulty, all the while being careful not to touch his back, not to hurt him further (Merlin would've appreciated the effort if not for the fact that moving even the slightest bit sent a flood of pain down his spine, and unfortunately for him, that was rather unavoidable). They very gently laid him down so that he was lying on his stomach, and as soon as he was situated, the two guards moved away to collect what they had set down earlier.

Merlin closed his eyes, pressing his face into the very flat pillow of his cot. All he wanted to do was sleep, but he got the feeling that he wouldn't be able to for a while. Despite having never suffered any _serious_ injuries (he chose to ignore all the cases where he had been struck by magic, because it's not like Gaius had had to patch him up or anything afterwards, so they obviously didn't count), he had seen plenty who had, and he knew what the treatment was like. His wounds would have to be cleaned and then covered with something—herbs, salve, honey, whatever was available—in order to prevent infection before being wrapped up.

And depending on how bad it was, the whole process would have to be repeated, possibly even multiple times. He was not looking forward to it.

When Owyn and Rordan returned with their bucket of water and some cloth, the warlock heaved a small sigh and tried to prepare himself for the inevitable discomfort that would soon follow.

In the end, he failed spectacularly.

"Just try to relax," said Rordan. "We'll be as careful as we can."

Merlin was rather certain that no amount of caution or care would have made a lick of difference. Even the lightest touch had him clenching his teeth and tensing. The warm water wasn't at all soothing, and it had clearly been mixed with something—soap or salt or some other sort of substance used for cleaning—that made each line on his back feel like it was burning once again, more intensely than before.

Despite the pain, he managed to hold on through it, his hands fisting the sheets beneath him while he kept his eyes shut and his jaw locked. He tried not to make a sound, and in the end he succeeded…_right_ up to the point where they started to rub some sort of salve over the wounds. His resolve shattered rather quickly after that, and for the life of him he couldn't keep himself from crying out. Instead he buried his face further into the pillow to muffle his voice, desperately wishing that he could just pass out already. Even though the process was painful, it wasn't quite painful enough to render him unconscious, and seeing as how the guards were making due with what they had, it wasn't likely that they'd be in possession of a sleeping draught or a concoction that could ease the pain. He would simply have to bear with it until the process was over or his body decided that it had had enough.

He couldn't help thinking, probably for the thousandth time in the past month, that his life was _really_ unfair.

By the time they were finished and only had the bandages left to apply, Merlin was practically gasping for breath, and even though he knew that the whimpering noises he kept making were a thing of true embarrassment, he couldn't for the life of him stop. He was tired and in pain, and all he wanted was to fall asleep and maybe wake up a week from now, because by then his back might not feel like someone kept smacking it with a lit torch.

Strangely enough, he got his wish. In order to apply the bandages, they first had to move him, and when they tried to lift him up, the pull and stretch of his torn skin was too much for him to handle on top of everything else. It was almost ridiculous that after holding onto consciousness through the flogging and then the treating of his wounds, being _bandaged_ is what did him in, but he found that he couldn't quite bring himself to care as he finally—_at last_, thank God—slipped into darkness.

"Finally," sighed Owyn as Merlin slumped against him, eyes closed and his breathing steady. "I thought he'd never give in. He certainly is a stubborn one."

"Indeed," Rordan agreed as he picked up the bandages. Owyn carefully maneuvered the warlock into a sitting position, careful not to touch the wounds or pull them back open. The boy had bled enough already—the sheets on his cot were a testament to that. They would need to be changed, and a new blanket would need to be brought up as well. He'd take care of it as soon as they finished tending to Merlin.

The two of them worked in silence for a while until Owyn noticed that Rordan's hands were shaking while he wound the bandages around the warlock's torso. One look at the guard's face and it was easy to see why. His dark eyes had grown even darker with anger.

"Neirin, that bastard," he growled softly. "He held nothing back." Owyn couldn't help but agree with that assessment. The brute of a man had struck hard enough that even the first lash had been able to break the skin. The rest of the guards would have likely gone easy on him, but Neirin was Barragh's right hand man, and unlike most of them, he didn't have a soft spot for the young warlock. It was quite likely that the man hated him, was perhaps even jealous. After all, Merlin had no small hand at magic. His level went above and beyond even the most well-trained sorcerers, and for someone like Neirin who had magic but hadn't the skill to use it… Well, he had likely built up a rather unhealthy amount of hatred for the boy, especially since Barragh had taken such an interest in him.

"He _will_ heal, right?" Owyn asked, needing to know that their friend (and that's what Merlin was to them, as odd as the situation was) would be alright.

"In time. It'll take a while, and there might be some scarring, but he'll be alright. I'll make sure of it."

The younger man gave a soft hum in response, knowing that Rordan meant every word and would do all he could. Out of all of them, he was the one who had spent the most time with Merlin, who knew him best, although that wasn't saying much. However open and innocent Merlin appeared to be, he never talked much about himself. All they really knew about him was that he came from Camelot and that he was a ridiculously powerful sorcerer. No matter how gormless the boy seemed, he was no fool. He knew better than to talk about his life, about the things and the people that meant something to him. Everything he divulged had the potential to be used against him, and so he kept quiet, always changing the subject when a topic got too personal (something they had learned he was extremely good at).

It was a bit odd, really, how they could know so little about the warlock and yet feel like they knew him so well. They knew what kind of person he was, the kind of beliefs he had, and how he felt about certain things, and that was enough for them. After all, it wasn't so much about what a person was, what they did or didn't—could or couldn't—do. In the end, all that mattered was who they were, and after spending a month in the boy's company, it was easy to see what kind of person he was.

Merlin was probably one of the most—if not _the_ most—selfless, stubborn, innocent, clumsy, loyal, bighearted fools that he had ever met.

He was the last person who deserved to be treated like this.

As the two guards continued their work in silence, Owyn let his mind stray a bit, needing to distract himself and Rordan with something other than Merlin's situation, because that was a road paved with far too much guilt and uncertainty, and they'd be of no help to him if they started wallowing in it. Instead he found his thoughts drifting to their other prisoner of great importance who was probably scowling at an empty mug and plate by now and wondering whether Owyn was actually going to come back.

He couldn't keep the corners of his lips from twitching upwards at the thought of Camelot's crown prince. He honestly hadn't meant to startle him quite so much, but his reactions to all the unwarranted hospitality certainly had been amusing.

"So," he began, wanting to make sure he had at least some of Rordan's attention, "I talked to the prince earlier."

The other guard glanced up briefly before returning to his task, although there was a somewhat amused grin, small though it was, on his face.

"Well, what's he like?" Rordan asked.

"He's interesting. Bit different than I thought he'd be though."

"How so?"

"Well, I guess I was sort of expecting him to start yelling or acting like a spoiled, pampered brat, but he was rather quiet. Of course, I think I probably shocked him a bit when I said I'd gladly get him more food if he wanted, so that could be why he didn't talk much. He kept looking at me like I was mad."

"You _are_ mad."

Owyn simply shot his friend a halfhearted glare before continuing with his tale.

"Anyway, as I was saying, he's rather different from what I thought the son of Uther Pendragon would be like. I was expecting someone angry and pompous and overbearing, but he just sort of sat there and stared at me. He wasn't openly hostile at all. He actually seems like he might be a decent person, or at least a nicer one than his father."

For a while neither one of them said anything, but Owyn could tell that his friend was deep his thought, his brow crinkling as his eyebrows drew together. He remained like that even after he finished tying off the bandages and the two of them lowered Merlin back onto the cot. They would have to come back in a few hours to check on him, but for now he seemed to be sleeping deeply enough that the pain wasn't bothering him much. Maybe if Rordan were able to sneak away for a bit, he'd be able to mix up something to help with that (the man was no physician, but he knew his way around an apothecary).

It wasn't until the two of them were picking up their supplies that the older guard finally spoke up again.

"About the prince…" he began, letting his voice trail off as he cast another glance at the injured warlock. "If it comes down to it…do you think we could trust him?"

His question, vague though it was, needed no clarification. Owyn knew exactly what he meant and could hear what wasn't being said. At first he wasn't entirely sure how to respond, because even though it was easy to see that Arthur wasn't much (if at all) like his father, the two of them had only spoken for a short while. He would need to "interrogate" him a bit more before he could honestly answer a question like that, but he hoped that the outcome would be favorable. After all, they needed all the help they could get, because if they were to try anything without being absolutely prepared, it could all go very, _very_ badly.

_Especially_ for Merlin.

"I'm not sure yet," he said. "Give me a bit more time, and I'll be able to give you an answer. I swear I'll be discrete."

"Alright."

With nothing left to say and nothing more to do, the two of them left the dark, solitary cell, but not before taking one final look at their friend. Lying there like that, he looked so young, vulnerable…so completely innocent. He looked like someone who needed protection, who wouldn't be able to put up much of a fight or even look after himself, and while a good deal of that was true, at the same time it really wasn't.

The boy was _dangerous_, very much so, and not just because of his incredible talent and capacity for magic. That was frightening in its own right, but what truly made him and his gifts so terrifying was his nature, his very appearance, because no one would ever suspect that behind that unassuming exterior lay the power to topple armies, raze castles, and bring an entire kingdom to its knees.

Barragh knew this—but the _real_ question was, did Merlin?

Did he have _any_ idea just how powerful a weapon he could be?

* * *

When the door to his cell finally creaked open once more, Arthur had been occupying himself by staring down at the empty platter and cup, wishing he had more but still a bit hesitant in believing that Owyn would actually bring him any. The man had no reason to, after all. That's why it came as something of a pleasant surprise when he saw the guard enter his cell once more with another platter and an entire pitcher full of what could only be water while a second guard waited just outside the door. However, unlike before, he no longer had a smile on his face. If anything he looked tired, and it didn't seem to be from physical exhaustion.

Did it have something to do with why he had run off earlier?

The prince remained silent as the door was once again locked, the second guard taking off down the hall while Owyn walked slowly across the cell. When he looked up and saw Arthur's eyes on him, a smile crossed his face, and even though he barely knew the man, it was still easy to see that it was forced.

"Sorry I took so long," he said before setting the platter down. He took the empty cup and filled it back up until it was almost overflowing before setting the pitcher down as well. Unlike before, he remained quiet during the task; he didn't even make eye contact. The prince actually found it all a bit unnerving, which was just ridiculous, because why should he even _care_, but he found that it bothered him nonetheless. Still, he chose not to say anything and just waited until Owyn was done, watching as the guard moved away and went to lean against the adjacent wall. He crossed his arms and lowered his head, staring at the floor as if it had wronged him in some way, and his whole demeanor was just so completely opposite from what it had been before that Arthur found himself asking without knowing whether or not he actually cared about the answer.

"Did something happen?"

Owyn's head snapped up rather quickly, his eyes a bit wide at the query. Apparently he hadn't been expecting that either. It didn't take long for the surprise to wear off though, and in its wake was a look of resignation and wariness. The man shook his head a bit before returning his gaze to the floor.

"It doesn't truly concern you," he began, though not at all unkindly, "but yes, something happened."

"Someone was flogged, right? Another prisoner."

He counted it as a small victory when Owyn's head snapped up again, clearly shocked that Arthur knew what had happened. It was somewhat satisfying to know that even in this situation he wasn't at a _complete_ disadvantage. Being able to surprise someone wasn't anywhere near a huge victory, nor would it really get him anywhere, but it made him feel just a bit less helpless in a situation that was still entirely out of his control.

"How did you know?" Owyn asked, just a touch of suspicion coloring his words.

"I overheard you and that guard from earlier."

A rather strange expression crossed the man's face, one Arthur couldn't even hope to decipher. Thoughtful and wary weren't quite right, but at the same time he could think of no better words to describe it. When it seemed apparent that Owyn wasn't going to comment any time soon—too lost in his thoughts, apparently—he decided that he may as well just let it go for now and turned his attention to the food he'd been given. There was no point in letting decent food go to waste, after all.

Unbeknownst to the prince, Owyn was watching him from the corner of his eye, simultaneously going over everything that had been said between him and that guard and everything that he had gathered so far about Arthur. He still didn't know much about him, but the prince had, at the very least, been curious about what had happened. Curiosity was sometimes a gateway to concern, especially for stubborn, emotionally stunted people, although it was a bit too soon to assume something like that. Arthur had no reason to be concerned about someone he didn't know, whose situation had no bearing on him, but that _didn't_ rule out sympathy, and he could potentially work with that.

He and Rordan had both wanted to know just what kind of man the prince was—well, this was as good a time as any. He wouldn't give him too many details, nothing that could get them into trouble in the future, but he would let him know enough to get a reaction. Owyn knew he had to be careful though, because whether Arthur was a decent human being or not, he was still the prince of Camelot, and Camelot had rather strict rules when it came to magic and how those who practiced it should be dealt with. There was no way he would risk the life of his friend just to test the prince. There was no telling what consequences that could have. Merlin _lived_ in Camelot, after all. Where exactly he didn't know—the warlock had never told any of them—but it still wasn't worth the risk.

Therefore he would be discrete. No names, no magic, nothing that could lead back to Merlin. What little he did know had been told in confidence, and he had no intention of breaking that trust.

No matter what happened, he would not compromise his friend. Somehow, someway, they _were_ going to save him.

Or die trying.

* * *

**A/N: **That's all for now! Hope you enjoyed it, and thank you again to all who are reading this and for all the reviews. You guys totally make my week :) Always feel free to tell me what you think, even constructive criticism, just so long as it's polite...and you're willing to debate :) One thing to know is that despite all the worrying I do, I'm not one to back down. I can give just as good as I get :)  
Oh, and all the smilies are genuine. I actually am constantly smiling :)

Review Responses: Like last time, this is where I'll respond to the anonymous reviews for the chapter ('cause I like talking to people, and I really am grateful for all of them :) Length of the responses is irrelevant. It all depends on how much I can comment on.

CM: Hello again :) I'm extremely happy to be back. I forgot how much fun I have doing this. I really missed being an active member of this fandom :) I fear I'm going to be a bit mean in this fic regarding Merlin and Arthur finding out about each other. I do enjoy drawing things out, after all, though this fic will (hopefully) be significantly shorter than my others, so I won't be able to draw it out for _too_ long :) Just hope it all turns out well when I do finally get to that part :)

Paul: Ah, not just _won't_ escape. He _can't_. That'll be explained later on :) And Arthur isn't always Merlin's priority even though he's meant to be (i.e. Freya). And about that "boy" comment, it's in character and it's cannon. A lot of antagonists have called him that, even Morgana, so I see nothing wrong with it. And if you meant in the plain text/paragraphing, that's a personal choice :) And yes, I do want to stretch myself, but not in the way you're referring to. An idea is an idea; it either comes to you or it doesn't, and you shouldn't force yourself to write something you don't care for. Fanfiction is meant to be fun, not just a challenge, and stretching oneself as a creative writer should first and foremost be about style and language. It's about perspectives, tenses, grammar, flow, wording, using spacing and placement and all of that to not only write a story but to give it life. That's what I was taught :) A great idea will fall apart without the right words, but even a mediocre one can become a work of art with the right language. And I'll go back to what I said before: I write what I like, and that happens to include whump (and I personally feel that generalizing it all and treating it as the same is a rather limited perspective). Anyway, my opinion on the matter might be different from yours, and that's fine. This is just how I do things, and if someone doesn't like it, oh well. It's impossible to please everyone (I work retail. This is a fact of life :), after all, and I'm certainly not going to turn something I love doing into a chore by trying.

Penelope V: Thank you! I'm glad you've enjoyed my fics :) And no worries. I'm rather shy like that too. I think I've probably reviewed just a handful of the hundreds of fics I've read here :) Merlin and Arthur really do have a wonderful relationship, and I'm glad I've been doing a decent job with it (I love those boys. They're just so adorable in their own unique way :) I'm starting to get rather anxious about them finding out about each other being there now too, because I get the feeling my original plan for it will end up changing (that seems to happen a lot to me when I write). I just hope that when the time comes, it turns out well :)

KIRA D: Thank you for all the reviews :) Glad you like my fics. I really liked writing that line (I adore philosophical type things like that), and this fic shall likely have quite a few of those sorts of moments. And I agree, how could anyone not love Merlin? He's rather nice and adorable in his own wonderful way. He deserves to have lots of friends who worry over him :)  
You asked me, in another review, if I had a deviantArt account, right? Well, I do :) There's not much on it, but I do have one. My user name on there is Kitai-Matsuru (I think. I'm pretty sure there's a hyphen). I'm a rather boring person there, as I rather fail as an artist, and I never got around to doing much with it, but I still use it. I rather love fanart, after all :)


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N:** Argh...dialogue. I blame you for the incredible lack of sleep I will be getting (I have to be to awake again in 4 hours...sigh). While I will consent that I'm not horrible at it (seeing as how the last time I claimed to fail at dialogue everyone felt the need to disagree with me), it doesn't change the fact that it takes me forever to write it. I can produce a page of paragraphing in the time it takes me to come up with just a few bits of dialogue, and I apparently failed to realize just how much this story was going to rely on the dialogue to push things along. I'm not so good at thinking ahead, it seems.

**Title: **Of Twisted Morals and Human Weaponry  
**Author: **BeyondTheStorm  
**Rating: **T for...well, a lot of things. Some language, some violence, the whole general situation, a bit of torture, etc.  
**Characters/pairings:** The cast is as follows: Merlin, Arthur, an antagonist, two guards with names, and a few without. Merlin and Arthur are the main focus of this story. Oh, and no pairings. Only friendship here, though if you want to read more into it, feel free. Whatever floats your boat.  
**Spoilers: **Um...none, as far as I know.  
**Warnings: **Abuse, a bit of torture, me being descriptive  
**What to expect:** Bromance, introspection, angst, some whump, H/C, lots of drama, lots of worrying...oh, and some magic. Can't forget the magic :)

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Merlin :)

I'm sorry I didn't get around to the review responses for chapter 4. I'm going to try to do them for this chapter, but we'll see. My hours picked back up at work, so my free time is rather sad at the moment (for all those who have asked and anyone who is curious, I work in retail on the salesfloor, though I'm technically a step above salesfloor. I have a title and everything :) But anyway, thank you for all the reviews. I'm still a bit shocked, honestly. I was never expecting so many people to read this, so thank you :)

Anyway, without further ado, onward!

* * *

CHAPTER 5

When Arthur was about halfway through the bread and fruit that had been brought for him, Owyn very calmly and casually uncrossed his arms and slid down the wall until he was sitting on the floor. The prince glanced up at the movement and saw the guard watching him yet again with a small smile on his face—which, strangely enough, _didn't_ unnerve him this time. Tough he certainly hadn't expected to, he was actually becoming rather comfortable around the somewhat strange man, and even though he barely knew him, he found that he much preferred that ridiculous grin to the melancholy expression he had been wearing earlier. He had no idea why, exactly, but he also didn't care enough to examine those thoughts further. For some reason, it just felt more comfortable to him…familiar, even.

However, he could certainly do without all the staring.

The prince quickly swallowed his mouthful of bread and then decided that the best thing to do in this situation would be to stare right back (see how _he_ liked it), but all that managed to do was make him smile even more. Arthur couldn't help but scowl a bit at the touch of amusement he could see in that grin, but even that wasn't enough to deter him from staring. Whatever Owyn had been mulling over earlier, he was apparently done with it now. However, the man wasn't saying anything. Even though he clearly had Arthur's attention, he was just sitting there _watching_ him.

It was extremely unsettling.

"…What?" he finally asked, irritated at the scrutiny he was being subjected to.

"Nothing," Owyn said with a smile. "Just curious is all. You seemed rather interested in what happened earlier even though it has no bearing on you. I was merely wondering why."

"Is curiosity a crime here?"

"Of course not. I just find it strange is all. Most people in your position would only be concerned about themselves. I merely think it's a bit odd that a prince like yourself would be so curious about the flogging of another prisoner."

Owyn just smiled at him innocently—as if he hadn't just spouted a bunch of carefully concealed, teasing insults about not only the prince's station but his character—and Arthur immediately took back all his previous thoughts about the guard. That smile absolutely did _not_ inspire any feelings of comfort or familiarity whatsoever (Owyn could just go right back to being depressed for all he cared).

He really wasn't sure what it was about him, be it his words, his tone, or that infuriating half-grin, but whatever it was, Arthur found himself becoming more and more exasperated. True, some of his own words had been a bit short with perhaps a little disdain thrown in, but it's not like the prince was being uncivil, and yet Owyn just kept grinning like an idiot and phrasing his sentences in a way that wasn't directly insulting but felt like it should have been. Everything he had said was valid to a point, but Arthur still found himself becoming irritated at what sounded like words that were carefully chosen to avoid one's ire but that were said in a tone that hadn't been careful at all.

It was probably some sort of subconscious choice on his part due to the odd similarities between the two, but in the end he found himself responding to Owyn in much the same way he often did to Merlin: superciliously and with a touch of sarcasm.

"Oh, is that so?" he asked haughtily. "And I suppose a _guard_ caring about the punishment of a prisoner is _normal _then? If anyone is odd here, it's _you_." He managed to fight the urge to point accusingly at the guard, but he wasn't able to restrain himself from running a hand through his hair out of sheer frustration. None of it made any sense to him. "I just…_don't_ understand why you all _care_ so much! There's nothing in it for you!"

"…Does there have to be?"

And just like that, his entire demeanor changed. Gone was the amusement, the smile, the carefully constructed words, and in its place was something sad but sincere. It was enough to quiet the prince, and once more he found himself at a loss when dealing with this man.

"What?"

"That's the second time you've mentioned that. Earlier, when I was being too 'nice' to you, you asked what was in it for me, but just now, I think you pretty much answered that question. The truth is, there really _is_ nothing in it for me, not in the way you're implying, but I don't see why that matters. There doesn't have to be. Haven't _you_ ever done something simply because you felt it was the right thing to do, or risked your life for someone that, in the eyes of others, you had no reason to? Can you honestly tell me that you've never once gone against your king—your _father_—and risked his ire for the sake of another, for something that, as a prince, you shouldn't have cared about?"

He opened his mouth to say something but promptly closed it, letting the questions wash over him, because the answer to every single one was a simple but resounding "yes." There were many times where he had done something simply because he had felt like it was the right thing to do, even if it meant going against his father, and more than once he had risked his life for things and for people that most would deem unimportant, expendable. The answer was yes, he had, and if asked "why" or "for what" or "who", his answer would probably be the same.

After all, wasn't that part of the reason he had ended up here in the first place?

He was about to say something, to offer some sort of explanation, but apparently he didn't need to, because Owyn just smiled at him in understanding, as if he already knew what the answer was. Instead the guard just relaxed against the wall, letting his head fall back before addressing the prince again, his words soft but intense as he turned his eyes to the ceiling.

"If there's one thing I've learned from being here, it's that there's rarely a benefit in doing what's right, but I think it's better than regretting the fact that you did nothing when you had the power to do _something_. If you have the ability to save someone, then save them—or at least, that's my belief."

Arthur wanted to say something. He really did, but he found that words were failing him again. This was quite possibly the last thing he had expected to hear and not at all one of the conversations he had intended to have. Despite Owyn's position and his duty as a guard in service to Barragh, his words and their sentiment felt real and genuine, as if that truly was his belief.

Gods, if this man had been sent to try and confuse him, then he was sure doing a decent job of it. Arthur was pretty sure he was staring openly by now, both intrigued and shocked by what had been said. Funnily enough, Owyn was actually starting to look just a little unnerved by it.

"There you go staring at me like you think I'm completely mad again," he said with a sigh, his tone snapping the prince out of his reverie.

"No, I just…wasn't expecting all that is all," he said, still recovering a bit from the somewhat wise but earnest words he'd just heard.

"Most people probably wouldn't be, at least not from me." Owyn just smiled again, the kind that made it seem like everything was amusing to him. Very casually he placed his arms behind his head and stretched his legs out, slumping further against the wall. He was the very image of relaxed, and Arthur was starting to find it difficult, not to mention exhausting, to keep up with his constant change of demeanor.

The guard gave a brief nod to the platter that was still half full, raising an eyebrow in question.

"Are you going to finish that? Because if you are, I'd appreciate it if you would hurry up a bit. I can't leave until you're done."

"Why?"

"Need to take those dishes back with me. Just because I have no problem going behind Barragh's back doesn't mean I want to get caught doing it."

_Makes sense, _he thought to himself as he looked down at the food that was left. He figured he may as well finish it. No point in wasting decent food, and there was no telling when his next meal would be. He picked up a slice of bread and resumed his eating, earning him an even brighter grin from the guard.

Once he was well on his way to finishing the rest of his meal, Owyn felt the need to talk again, and Arthur was a bit surprised to find him bringing the conversation back to where it had started.

"So, you wanted to know about what happened earlier?" he asked, earning him the prince's attention once more. "Well, you were right. Barragh gave the order to flog one of the prisoners."

"The one who keeps escaping?" he questioned before popping a few grapes into his mouth. That query earned him a rather bemused and incredulous look, accompanied by a raised eyebrow that could have given even Gaius' a run for his money. The prince found himself swallowing his mouthful quickly before responding somewhat hesitantly (he blamed Gaius for that. Obviously it had become a natural response to being looked at like that). "I…Barragh was here when the bells went off."

Apparently that was a good enough explanation, because Owyn just gave him that amused half-grin again before remarking a bit sardonically, "Overhead that conversation too, did you?"

The prince scowled at that before grabbing another handful of grapes.

"Well, he was shouting, so it wasn't exactly difficult," he replied, earning him a quiet chuckle in return.

Arthur reached out to the plate again and popped a few more grapes into his mouth before asking, "So how did he escape?"

"Sorry, but I'm afraid I can't tell you that," Owyn said. He really should have been expecting that answer. The man was still a guard after all, albeit an extremely odd one. "To be completely honest, I'm not even sure _I_ really understand how he does it. No matter what cell we put him in, he always finds a way out."

"…Just how many times has he escaped?" he asked, bemused, because from how Owyn spoke, it was obviously more than just two or three.

"Let's see… I think today's attempt makes seven this month."

"_Seven_?"

Seven tries in one month. Seven times he had managed to escape from whatever cell they had put him in, and still he hadn't been able to make it out of the castle. If what Owyn had said earlier was true and most of the guards really were decent people, then why hadn't he managed to escape yet? Surely most of them would just ignore him if he was seen unless it was unavoidable to do otherwise. Was there some other reason then as to why he was still a prisoner after seven attempts?

And another thing… If he was so difficult to control and contain, then why was Barragh even bothering? Why hadn't he chosen to punish him before now? Sure, the mountain of a man had implied that the other prisoner didn't look like he could take even a couple lashings, but there were surely other forms of punishment that could be used. For what reason had he stayed his hand for so long?

"If he's managed to escape _seven_ times already, then why is he still here?" he asked, because it just didn't make any sense to him. Was the other prisoner just that incompetent?

"I don't know how much you saw of the interior of this castle before they locked you in here, but this place isn't easy to navigate," Owyn said, his eyes once again trained on the ceiling as he explained. "It's essentially a maze of halls and passages. I was told that when it was built, it was originally designed as a prison of sorts. Most of it is comprised of cells. That's one of the reasons that you haven't seen anyone else, because with so many places to keep prisoners, Barragh makes sure that everyone he holds is isolated. Wouldn't want anyone collaborating, after all.

"Every time someone manages to escape from a cell, Barragh has them moved to a new one in a different part of the castle. That way, even if they were able to memorize a particular route in the castle, they likely would never be able to find it again. Though I must admit, Barragh will have a hard time finding him a new cell if he escapes again. He's pretty much been placed in every section of the castle by now."

Despite the grin on his face and the jovial tone to his voice, it wasn't hard to see that the other prisoner's predicament bothered him. Barragh's continued frustration was certainly amusing, but at the same time it came at the price of a friend (and he got the feeling that that's how Owyn saw him, otherwise he wouldn't be so concerned).

There was still one more thing he wanted to know, something that had been bothering him ever since Barragh had snarled at him while the warning bells tolled in the background. When he had overheard Owyn and that guard talking outside his cell only hours ago, his curiosity had been piqued even further. He wanted to know what it was about the other prisoner that made him so special. From the sound of it, he seemed to be more trouble than he was probably worth, so why were they all putting in so much effort for him. Why was Barragh even bothering when he was clearly so difficult to deal with?

"What makes him so important?" he asked, genuinely curious about the answer. He watched and waited as Owyn turned his attention back to him, a hesitant expression on his face, as if he were thinking through his words carefully (for real this time) less he say something he shouldn't. That alone proved that there was a great deal more to this situation than he knew, something that he wasn't likely to be told any time soon. It was understandable, really, but that didn't make it any less frustrating.

"He, well…" Owyn began, trailing off to gather his words before starting again. "Let's just say that he has a particular set of skills, and he's extremely good at what he does. It isn't a talent you come across very often, and so Barragh decided to keep him. He wants those abilities for himself, and he's determined to make that happen no matter what. Unfortunately, he got tired of asking nicely."

"So he had him flogged," Arthur said, a scowl making its way across his face. He actually found himself feeling rather indignant on the other prisoner's behalf. Sure, he had seen people—mostly criminals—suffer at the hands of a braided whip before, but it wasn't a punishment that he would ever willingly subject anyone to. It was brutal, unjust, and unneeded. That was one thing (of the many that there were) that his father and he could never see eye to eye on. There had even been times, few though they were, where his father had even used flogging as a punishment for a servant, for something as essentially harmless as speaking out of turn or giving an opinion, a simple moment of insolence, a minor indiscretion, an insult, a task that had been forgotten, etc. Most of the time it was just the threat of being flogged, but he _had_ gone through with it before, and the prince was ashamed to admit that he had rarely tried to talk him out of it (talking never did any good in the long run, but at least he could say that he had tried).

Things were very different now though. He was no longer the type of person—the type of prince—who could sit back and allow innocent people to suffer through a punishment that didn't fit their crime. After all, if insubordination was enough to earn a man a flogging, then Merlin would have likely been flogged to death a long time ago, and Arthur knew for a fact that there _were_ masters who would resort to such a thing, who would punish their servants in some way for tardiness or being insolent, but he never would. Aside from throwing something at the idiot or tossing him in the stocks for a few hours, Arthur would never intentionally hurt his servant (and just the thought of someone ordering for Merlin to be flogged made him feel sick and had his blood boiling).

Using a physical punishment as a deterrent—using fear to control someone—wasn't something he could agree with, not anymore.

"…You're a good man, Arthur."

His head shot up, a pair of startled blue eyes meeting a rather contented set of green. There was a smile there, one filled with something at ease and knowing, and even though he hadn't said a word to betray his thoughts, it seemed that Owyn knew exactly where his mind had been.

"What…?"

"I've met a lot of people in the time I've spent here, peasants and nobles alike, but you're probably only the second person to look so offended on another's behalf, and a stranger's no less."

The guard began to stand, stretching out his arms and legs that had likely grown a bit stiff after spending so much time sitting on the floor.

"And ironically enough," he continued, "the first is actually the very person you got so offended over."

Owyn's smile fell a bit, his expression growing serious once more as he fixed the prince with his surprisingly focused gaze (Arthur immediately decided that during their next lengthy interaction, he was going to keep track of how many times that grin appeared and disappeared off the other man's face, because surely it had to be a rather spectacular number).

"You asked me earlier why he was so important. For Barragh, it's because of his abilities, but for us…it's because he's a friend. He's one of the kindest people I've ever known. _That's_ why I 'care so much,' as you put it, and someday I _will_ find a way to get him out of here, no matter what the cost. After all, if one of _your _friends was in trouble, wouldn't you do the same?"

Yes, he would. He had done, more than once, and he would continue to do so regardless of the consequences to himself. He could never abide just sitting back and doing nothing or giving up without ever having tried. It didn't matter what anyone else had to say on the matter—people _couldn't_ just be replaced. He could always find more soldiers, more knights, get another servant, but it would never be the same, because he _knew_ them, as comrades and as friends, and though he had many of the first, he only had a few of the later. Real friends were hard to find, and he was ashamed to admit that he often took the ones he had for granted, that it always seemed to take something devastating and drastic for him to finally realize what he stood to lose only for him to grow complacent once again after everything was settled.

He feared that someday the realization would dawn too late, that he would be left with nothing but an empty silence from all the words he should have said and everything he had meant to do. He could only hope that such a day would never come, and he prayed to whoever would listen that his oversight and his arrogance hadn't already cost him one of the few things in his life that he couldn't bear to lose.

No matter how long it took, he had to find Merlin. He _had_ to, because the alternative was unthinkable. He would not allow the life of his friend to be taken as recompense for his ignorance. Arthur would find his wayward servant, and together they would return to Camelot where Merlin would continue to be a terrible servant but a loyal friend, and Arthur would do his best to become the same (because it had to go both ways for it to work, and it was about time he did something to earn the friendship that had been offered to him so unfailingly).

So lost in his thoughts was he that the prince didn't even notice as Owyn made his way over and picked up both of the now empty platters as well as the water jug. He didn't hear him as he moved across the cell and called out to the guard down the hall to come and let him out. It wasn't until he heard the sound of his cell door opening, the scraping of metal against stone, that he finally was snapped out of his thoughts. When he looked up at Owyn, the man smiled at him and gestured to the dishes he was holding.

"I'll come back tonight with some more if I can manage it. That is, of course, if you want me to."

"I…yes," he said, and because he felt that it was needed, he added a brief but honest, "Thank you."

Those two simple words only seemed to make Owyn's grin grow brighter, even though there was still that touch of amusement that never seemed to quite fade from his eyes, but this time there was something else there too.

If he didn't know any better, he would have called it pride.

"You certainly are different from what I thought you'd be," he said before stepping into the hallway and allowing the second guard to shut and lock the door behind him. However, as the other man walked off, Owyn remained just outside the cell, and when the sound of footsteps finally faded away into silence, he glanced back at the prince and spoke once more.

"Can I ask you just one thing?"

He nodded. After all, Owyn had answered plenty of his questions, so he could answer at least one of his.

"Earlier, when we were talking about doing what was right, I got the feeling that you understood, so I just want to know… Whatever or whoever it was that you risked so much for, that you went against your father for…was it worth it?"

Arthur let the question wash over him, but only for a second, because in the end it didn't even bear thinking about. Even if he didn't have hundreds of moments that he could call upon, he had one that he would _never_ be able to forget.

A feast, a poisoned chalice, and an agonizing, desperate race against time to save the incredibly selfless, loyal fool who would one day become his most trusted confidant and his greatest friend.

No matter how many times it was placed before him, he would always make the same choice.

"Yes."

_A thousand times over, yes._

* * *

**A/N:** So that's it for now. Sorry that it's a bit shorter than the previous ones, though not by much thankfully :) I'm sure I probably frustrated many of you with this, but I plan on keeping Arthur oblivious for a little longer yet. It's rather fun (for me, anyway :)

I promise there shall be some of Merlin's POV in the next chapter.

Again, thank you. You all make my week so much more tolerable in the midst of unreasonable expectations and ignorant managers. Please let me know what you think :)

Until next week!


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N:** Hello! Not much to say today, other than I am really enjoying season 5 :) I rewatched the first 3 eps with my sister on Sunday. It was great fun. Thank goodness for the internet, otherwise I think I might actually die if I had to wait until they aired here. Thank you internet!  
Oh, and I have decided that everyone who is an anime fan should watch Fairy Tail. Really. It's rather brilliant, and the music is incredible! I don't think I've ever loved a soundtrack so much :)

**Title: **Of Twisted Morals and Human Weaponry  
**Author: **BeyondTheStorm  
**Rating: **T for...well, a lot of things. Some language, some violence, the whole general situation, a bit of torture, etc.  
**Characters/pairings:** The cast is as follows: Merlin, Arthur, an antagonist, two guards with names, and a few without. Merlin and Arthur are the main focus of this story. Oh, and no pairings. Only friendship here, though if you want to read more into it, feel free. Whatever floats your boat.  
**Spoilers: **Um...none, as far as I know.  
**Warnings: **Abuse, a bit of torture, me being descriptive  
**What to expect:** Bromance, introspection, angst, some whump, H/C, lots of drama, lots of worrying...oh, and some magic. Can't forget the magic :)

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Merlin :)

I think I got through all of the review responses this week. I apologize if I missed any. And sorry for any rambling. Believe me, no matter how much or how little is said, I will come up with some way to ramble in the reply. It's a gift :)

Like I promised, this chapter has Merlin's POV. I wasn't actually expecting this part to take up a full chapter, but I rather like the way it turned out (even though the last paragraph took me almost _half an hour_ to write. Chapter endings are always a bit tricky for me when they're not cliffhangers).

Onward!

* * *

CHAPTER 6

When his eyes finally decided to open once again, it was well into the morning, or at the very least it _felt_ like morning (it was rather hard to tell the time of day when you were stuck in a huge stone cell without a single window). To be honest, Merlin had gotten rather used to not always knowing what time it was or how many days had passed. The only reason he had been able to keep track of it at all was because of Rordan and Owyn, though the latter had eventually stopped being useful in that respect (originally the warlock had been using his meals to gauge the time of day, but that method had quickly failed when the guard had started bringing him more than two or three meals a day—not that he didn't appreciate it, of course).

Wishing that he could at least get up to look out the very small, very barred opening on the door to see if the hallway was dark or not, Merlin tried to push himself up and immediately regretted it. He didn't even manage to fully get his arms under him before the wounds on his back began to pull and burn, forcing him to collapse onto the cot with a groan. Apparently moving was a very bad idea, because not only did his back hurt but everything else did as well. It probably had to do with lying in the same position for so long. His neck felt stiff, his arms were tired, and thanks to his attempt at getting up, he was rather sick to his stomach too. Yes, moving had definitely been a very bad idea, and therefore he was perfectly content to just _not_ move for the rest of the day (a whole week sounded even better, but he was pretty sure that wasn't an option).

The warlock heaved a deep sigh and let it out slowly, trying to relax as best he could, but amidst the relaxation he could feel what had become the very familiar and very irritating pull of boredom creeping up on him. He was well acquainted with it, seeing as how there was rarely anything for him to do while trapped in a cell. Pacing got old rather fast, as did staring out the window or into the hallway, all of which he couldn't do in his current state even if he wanted to. Being injured and immobile didn't leave him with many options for keeping himself occupied, and the last thing he wanted to do was go to sleep again (who knew when he would wake up next).

However, that meant that the only thing he could really do was let his mind wander, and that wasn't something he was all that eager to do. No matter what he chose to think about, it would eventually lead him back to the same place, and that would only make him fitful and anxious in the end. It always did, because it didn't matter how far his thoughts strayed, they always came back to the same thing: Arthur and Camelot. He couldn't help but wonder if everyone was alright, if they were worried about him, or if something terrible had happened in his absence. He certainly hoped not. He wasn't sure if he'd ever be able to forgive himself if the kingdom had somehow fallen because he wasn't there to protect it.

What worried him even more though was the thought of Arthur going off on his own and doing something foolish, like trying to find him. The warlock wasn't entirely sure how he felt about that though, because in some ways a part of him wished that Arthur _was_ trying to find him. If the prince were to suddenly disappear like he had, he would waste no time riding off to look for him, because no matter how big of a prat he was or how ungrateful he could sometimes be, Arthur was still his friend—his destiny too, but that had become rather secondary as far as reasons went. One day Arthur would be a great king, and he wanted to do everything in his power to help make that happen.

And so because of that, a large part of him hoped that the prince _wasn't_ trying to find him, that Arthur wasn't putting himself in danger for his sake, because he wasn't worth it. His life wasn't important enough for the prince to risk his for it. Someday, even if it took everything he had, he would find a way back to Camelot on his own. No one needed to look for him. He could take care of himself. _Oh really? Because I think we can all see how well that's going,_ his mind supplied in a voice that sounded a lot like Arthur's. He could almost feel the incredulous stare that would no doubt accompany those words, tainted with just a glint of amusement, a bit of familiar condescension, a faint trace of well-concealed fondness…

…And just like that his façade cracked, and he found himself missing the prince—his _best friend_—more than ever.

_I want to go home._

Merlin closed his eyes, trying to ignore the sting of unshed tears, but it was getting gradually harder as the days went by. He always tried his best to stay optimistic, to believe that one day he would get to go home again, but there were moments when it would all catch up with him, where the uncertainty would begin to take its toll and he would be left wondering whether he _would_ get to go home and whether anyone even missed him. He was certain that Gaius did, and possibly Gwen as well, but surely after a month of Merlin's absence, Arthur would have gotten himself a new servant (he could barely manage on his own for a couple of days let alone weeks on end).

The prince had to have replaced him by now, and even though he knew that it was only practical and that Arthur didn't actually have that great a say in the matter, it still hurt to think about it. Servants were expendable, easily replaced, and although the prince had long since stopped thinking like that, it didn't change the fact that he had far more important things to worry about and focus on than a missing servant, and a month was a long time to wait. Surely he must have given up by now.

_You know that's not true,_ said that same voice from before, and he could almost picture the accompanying scowl, the underlying anger that came from feeling like he had been insulted in some way, and Merlin could concede that yes, a part of him knew that it wasn't true. The term "give up" wasn't exactly in Arthur's vocabulary unless preceeded by words like "won't" and "never." He just wasn't that kind of person, even though there were times where Merlin wished he was. It would certainly make protecting him a lot easier, but at the same time that would take away one of the very things he was so admired for, something that would make him a truly great king: his determination and drive to do what's right.

So even though the warlock sometimes had his doubts about how exactly he fit into the prince's life, he knew that Arthur wouldn't just write him off as a lost cause, not unless he had tried everything he could think of to find him. He just had to keep believing in his friend and hoping that one day, when he finally made it back home, he would be welcomed and accepted back with open arms…and perhaps a hug. No harm in wishful thinking, right?

With a deep breath and a long sigh, he cleared his head and allowed his thoughts to fade away for a while. He was tempted to just let himself fall asleep again no matter how much he didn't really want to, because at least he didn't have to worry about anything while sleeping. Unfortunately, that wasn't likely to happen anytime soon seeing as how the pain running along his back was gradually getting worse. Someone must have given him something for it—a tonic, perhaps—while he had been unconscious, because it hadn't been quite so bad when he had first awoken. Now, however, whatever he had taken seemed to be wearing off, and so he made an extra effort not to move at all in the hopes of staving off the pain for a little longer.

He nearly failed when the door to his cell creaked open and startled him, but he managed to stop himself just in time. He did tense up though, which resulted in rather a lot of discomfort, but he bit back on the groan that wanted to escape just in case it happened to be Barragh coming to see him. No matter how much pain he was in, he wouldn't give his cruel captor the satisfaction of seeing it.

He needn't have bothered, because the hesitant, soft voice that called out to him wasn't one he had to put up a front around.

"…Merlin?"

Rordan. He must have come to check up on him. Merlin shifted his head just enough so that he could look up, showing the guard that he was indeed awake and aware, offering the smallest of smiles as he did so. It was enough to prompt his friend into coming into the cell, closing the door behind him before making his way over to the cot. It was small, but there was enough space for him to sit down next to the prone warlock, which is exactly what he did after placing his supplies down on the floor (bandages, water, some salve, a vial of what was probably some sort of potion to help with the pain).

The guard turned his head enough so that the two of them could properly see each other before offering a somewhat forced grin.

"How are you feeling?" he asked. Merlin would have shrugged if he had been in a position to do so, but instead he allowed his wry grin and a few words to answer for him.

"I've been better."

The look on Rordan's face clearly said what he thought of that statement, and all it took was a few moments of being subjected to that knowing stare before he finally elaborated.

"Hurts," he admitted, "but it's not as bad as I thought it would be."

The guard nodded at that before reaching down and unsheathing a small dagger hidden in his boot. Merlin just watched as he also grabbed the vial from the floor and held it up for the warlock to see.

"I need to change your bandages," he explained. "Do you want to take this now or later? It'll help with the pain."

"How long will it last?"

"A couple hours or so."

"Later." He could put up with the pain for now if it meant a few hours of pain-free bliss later.

"Alright. Just let me know if you change your mind."

Rordan set the vial down and then pulled away the blanket that had been covering the warlock, and Merlin couldn't help but shiver a bit at the sudden chill. Where had that blanket even come from? He was pretty sure it hadn't been there earlier, and there was no way Barragh would have given him such a thing

"Why do I have a blanket?" he asked as Rordan began the task of cutting away the old bandages (much faster and easier than trying to unwrap them).

"Because it gets cold in here, so Owyn brought one down for you."

"Of course he did." A smile spread across his face at the thought, taking on a teasing glint. "A couple of mother hens, the both of you."

"Well, you do seem to need a lot of looking after," Rordan teased right back before moving on with his task, carefully pulling away the bandages and wetting them with water in the places where blood had adhered them to the skin. Merlin tried to stay quiet, to not make any sounds whatsoever, but it was difficult when it felt like someone was trying to tear his wounds open. It burned and stung, but he just closed his eyes tightly and did his best to bear it. If Rordan noticed his distress at all, he chose not to comment on it.

Once the bandages were off, it was time for the salve, and thankfully it was far less painful and much more soothing than it had been the first time around. He almost sighed in relief at the first cool, numbing touch and allowed himself to relax as it was gently rubbed into the damaged flesh on his back. By the time it was over, he could only feel a dull burn. The relief wouldn't last, but it was enough for now.

A sigh from Rordan drew his attention as the guard held up the dressings that needed to be applied with a somewhat guilty look on his face.

"There really is no easy way to do this," he said. "I'm going to have to move you."

The warlock swallowed rather hard, knowing exactly what that meant. His earlier attempt at moving would be nothing compared to this. There was no avoiding it though.

"…Just do what you have to."

He closed his eyes again and prepared for whatever was to come next, and at first it didn't really hurt. He was merely rolled onto his side, but the moment Rordan tried to sit him up, everything changed. The wounds pulled and his stomach rolled with the change of position, and as helpful as it would have been for what was to come, he found that he couldn't sit up on his own just yet. His friend ended up having to awkwardly prop him against his own side before he was able to start winding the bandages around the warlock's torso. It was obvious he was trying to be careful, but sometimes all the care in the world just isn't enough.

After what felt like forever but could only have been a few minutes, Rordan was tying off the ends of the bandages before reaching for the vial.

"You'd best drink this now while you're still sitting up. I can't imagine you'll want to be moved again later."

Definitely not. As soon as he was lying back down, he wasn't going to move for a long, _long_ time. He parted his lips as the rim of the vial pressed against them and then swallowed the liquid down, grimacing just a bit at its taste. He had grown rather used to foul tasting potions, but that certainly didn't make them go down any easier. Thankfully a water skin was placed before him not a moment later, and he gratefully drained it dry before Rordan began to maneuver him back down onto the cot.

"You're healing well," he said as Merlin laid his head down against his thin pillow with a sigh of relief. "Faster than what I thought you would, actually. I assume your magic has something to do with that."

"Probably." He wasn't entirely sure, but it seemed reasonable enough. His magic had often protected him from things that should have killed him, mostly spells, but it sort of made sense that it would also help to heal any physical wounds he was forced to endure. It was a comforting thought that his magic was still looking out for him even though he could barely feel it anymore.

The two of them remained quiet for a moment before Rordan lowered his head and asked a question that neither of them really wanted to think about.

"…Has Barragh been by yet?"

Merlin couldn't help but scoff at that and roll his eyes. Thinking about the self-proclaimed weapons dealer always put him in a foul mood.

"No, but I'm sure he will be," he replied bitterly. "Even if it's only to gloat."

When Barragh did eventually show up for one of their "chats," he had every intention of being his sarcastic, insolent self. He would give him nothing that he could use against him, because there was no way that this could possibly break him. His resolve and his faith weren't so easily shattered. No matter what his keeper chose to believe, he was far from weak.

He would _not_ be broken.

"…You got pretty far this time," Rordan began, shifting the conversation just a bit in what was hopefully a better direction, "even with all the noise you made."

Merlin couldn't help but smile at that.

"Yeah," he agreed. "I think I'm starting to learn my way around this place." Which was saying something, because Barragh's stupid castle was actually a bloody maze masquerading as a fortress. There were so many hallways and rooms, very few of which ever led to anywhere useful. Most of them were dead ends, and seeing as how his magic wouldn't let him simply blow holes through the walls (his previous escape didn't count, because that had been an accident), they had all remained as such.

If only Barragh would just stick him in the same place just one time, then maybe he'd be able to actually find the gates for once. He hadn't even seen them as of yet, but he knew they existed…somewhere. He'd find them eventually. It was only a matter of time, really.

"A few more tries and I might just reach the gate," he said, trying to be jovial, but his words ended up wiping the smile off of Rordan's face, replacing it with something quite sad instead. He knew why—of course he did, but it wasn't exactly something he wanted to think about. It was easier for him to just focus on the goal and not so much on the potential consequences of trying to get there.

Still, it was hard not to.

"Merlin…"

"I know," he said, cutting his friend off before he could say anything else. He turned his eyes away, not wanting to see the worry and pity that were on Rordan's face. "I _know_, but I can't just give up. I need…"

He swallowed hard, nervous about what he intended to say, because he was going to be giving a part of himself up, something he hadn't done for any of them. He knew so much about their lives, but they knew next to nothing about his, and even though it needed to stay that way to some extent, there was no harm in divulging a little. Besides, he knew that whatever he said to Rordan would be safe with him.

"…There's someone I have to get back to."

It was possible that some of the guards already knew this, had guessed as much after watching him continuously try to escape no matter how futile his efforts, but he had never once actually mentioned any of the supposed people in his life. To do so would have been too dangerous in case he were to accidentally say too much. Barragh had a way of finding things out about people, so it was better not to talk about personal things. He would never be able to bear it if the people he loved were used against him. He could deal with the pain when it was his, but he wouldn't be able to bear another's. He would end up submitting to Barragh's will one way or another if any of them were placed in danger. His heart would never be able to take the strain.

Rordan's eyes widened a bit at the admission, clearly surprised at being entrusted with even that little bit of information, but it only lasted a moment before his expression softened into understanding.

"Someone important to you?" he asked quietly, and Merlin couldn't help but smile at the query and the conclusion that Rordan had most likely drawn from the warlock's statement.

"Yes, though probably not in the way you're thinking." He had to suppress an amused snort at the thought of Arthur's expression if anyone were to ever suggest such a thing. It cheered him up a bit before he sobered and pressed forward with his explanation. "There's someone that I swore to protect with my life."

He turned his eyes, full of resolve, towards Rordan so that he would be able to understand just how important this was to him, because it _was_ important. Protecting Arthur was his purpose, the reason for his magic, and without that hopeless prat in his life, he wasn't sure if he'd be able to continue living at all.

"That's why no matter what it takes, I need to get back to Camelot."

"…Even if trying to escape costs you your life?"

He wanted to say that it wouldn't happen, that there was no way it could, but he knew that wasn't true at all, because even if Barragh had no intention of killing him, that didn't mean it wouldn't happen. If the man decided to stick to his threat, then every failed attempt to escape would earn him five additional lashings, and if he didn't give himself enough time to heal properly, there was a good chance he would succumb to his injuries. There was also every chance that using his suppressed magic too much could over-tax his body (for all the magic he had, he was still made of flesh and blood. He was only human, no matter what anyone else had to say about it).

Yes, dying was a very real possibility if he intended to continue trying to flee from his captor.

However, that was a risk he was willing to take.

"If I die, then I'll at least die knowing I did everything I could to get home," he said with complete conviction even as his strength began to wane (there must have been a sedative in that potion he had taken). However, he was determined to make Rordan understand. He knew it wasn't logical, that as far as self-preservation went, it probably looked like he didn't have any at all, but that didn't matter. None of it did.

He would never allow himself to become a tool for Barragh. He had only one master, and he was more than happy to be Arthur's servant for the rest of his life, until the day he died. His loyalty would never belong to another.

"No matter what happens to me, I will _never_ serve Barragh."

For a long moment, Rordan didn't say anything. He just stared right at the warlock, at the determination and the sincerity he could see in those blue eyes, half-lidded from exhaustion. There was a word for it, all of it, one that was rare and powerful, dangerous and sometimes blind, one similar to belief and trust and yet at the same time so far beyond it.

Faith.

The conviction he could see in Merlin was fuelled by faith. Whoever it was that he had sworn to protect, they had his unwavering dedication, his absolute loyalty, and his unfathomable power whether they realized it or not. Just what kind of person was worth all that? What could they have possibly done to earn such unfailing devotion from a sorcerer like Merlin, someone with power enough to possibly conquer the world but with a heart that never would?

Merlin was truly, unbelievably strong—stronger than all of them, and in so many ways. Even now, with his magic locked away and mostly out of his reach, he still refused to yield, to give up. Even after seven failed attempts to escape and no word of anyone searching for him, he still refused to give in, to take the easy way out, to accept a fate he had no desire to be dealt. Was there any limit to his strength, to his desire to return home? Was he simply impossible to break?

God, he certainly hoped so.

He couldn't help but recall a conversation they had had a few weeks ago, back when the two of them had first started to really talk to each other. He remembered how he and Owyn had tried to convince him that he could just lie to Barragh, pretend that he was willing to serve him and then escape once the metal band on his arm was removed. He could also remember how vehemently Merlin had argued with them about it, saying that he would never be subservient to Barragh even if it _was_ just a lie, that he would never stoop that low to save himself…that he would never be able to commit such a betrayal (it wouldn't have worked anyway, because Barragh had ways of finding out whether someone was lying or not, and Merlin had proven himself to be a terrible liar no matter how good he was at withholding information).

Rordan hadn't really understood what he had meant back then, but now he did. To betray someone in that way, even falsely, that he had dedicated his life to went against everything he was and all he believed in. Merlin was one of the kindest people he had ever met, full of compassion and empathy for the people who had found their way into his heart and his life, and something told him that despite all his inner strength, a betrayal of that nature could very well be the one thing that would break him.

Hopefully the kindhearted sorcerer would never be forced to make such a choice. If he and Owyn could somehow manage to line up their pieces just right, then he would never have to. It was true that Rordan had a family to think of, one that Barragh had no problem using as leverage to control him, but he couldn't keep sitting back and doing nothing. Besides, if everything were to go according to plan, no accusations would be launched in his direction, and even if it all ended up falling apart around them, Owyn intended to take full responsibility for it (no amount of arguing had been able to change his mind, because what the other man stood to lose was something he no longer cared about). He had said that whatever punishment Barragh served him would be worth it regardless of whether they succeeded or not, because at least they would have _tried_.

However, neither of them had any intention of failing. One way or another, they _would_ save Merlin.

"…We'll find a way to get you out of here," he told the boy as earnestly as he was able, because he genuinely meant every word. "I promise."

He watched as a tired smile crossed the warlock's face though it was laced with sadness and a somewhat worrying amount of resignation.

"Don't make promises you can't keep," he said, and even though he seemed touched by the declaration, it was obvious he didn't believe it. Rordan would have probably felt a bit hurt at the lack of trust, except that wasn't what it was. Merlin knew that most of them were prisoners in some way. He knew what they stood to lose, and no matter how desperately he wanted to go home, he wasn't the type of person to sacrifice another for himself. He would never accept the idea of someone giving their life for him. He was selfless and stubborn like that, and no amount of arguing would be able to convince him otherwise.

Of course, that didn't mean they had to listen to him. Whether he wanted them to or not, they were still going to help him.

As Merlin's eyes began to close, Rordan knew that it was time for him to go. The warlock would need all the rest he could get, because the next person to walk through that door was unlikely to be a pleasant one. He needed to regain at least a bit of his strength before then.

He quickly stood and gathered the supplies he had brought before making his way to the door.

"…I'll bring you some food up later," he said, glancing back at the young sorcerer. In that moment Merlin looked even younger than he already was, with his face half buried in the pillow and his thin frame covered in bandages.

"Okay," came the sleepy reply.

With nothing more to say and nothing left that he could do, he opened the door, but before he could leave, the sound of his name (or what he assumed was his name, given that it was half-muffled by a pillow) stopped him.

"…Thank you."

Whether the boy could see it or not from such a distance and through the shadows of his cell, Rordan gave him a smile, one that even managed to reach his dark eyes. He stayed there, just like that, and watched over the warlock who had somehow become one of his dearest friends until sleep finally claimed him. After one final glance he stepped into the hallway, where the early light of a new day was dawning, and closed the door behind him.

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**A/N:** Well, I hope you liked it :) It'll be Arthur's turn next week.

And as always, thank you so much for reading. Really, words cannot express my gratitude. I seriously wasn't expecting so many people to like this, so thank you :) Please feel free to let me know what you think.

Review Responses: For the anonymous reviews I couldn't respond to directly :)

twinspired: Thanks for the review! So glad liked it :) I have a lot of fun writing Arthur like that, making him think and contemplate, especially when there's someone there to push him along. Owyn is rather fun as well, especially when he's talking to Arthur. There shall be quite a few more conversations between the two of them, promise :) And I'm definitely making Arthur go through with that if I can figure out how to slip it in without breaking the word flow (so happy you liked that bit. I threw it in while I was editing, 'cause I thought it'd be funny, and because Owyn really does change his expression rather often :)

Janssye: Thank you! I'm glad you're enjoying it :) I'm having rather a lot of fun writing it, despite all the dialogue I've subjected myself to writing. I just hope that what I have planned (and what I don't, because I'm pretty sure most of this fic isn't actually planned) will be just as good. I'll do my best :)


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: **Ugh...this chapter took forever! Had I not spent my breaks at work this past week figuring out the dialogue, I would have been in trouble. I'm not 100% satisfied with this chapter, but I still like it. It's rather a lot of fun writing Arthur and Owyn's conversations :)

Sorry I couldn't get to the review responses last week. I pretty much just tried to answer the ones where there were questions (that I could actually answer). If I missed any, please feel free to ask them again :)

**Title: **Of Twisted Morals and Human Weaponry  
**Author: **BeyondTheStorm  
**Rating: **T for...well, a lot of things. Some language, some violence, the whole general situation, a bit of torture, etc.  
**Characters/pairings:** The cast is as follows: Merlin, Arthur, an antagonist, two guards with names, and a few without. Merlin and Arthur are the main focus of this story. Oh, and no pairings. Only friendship here, though if you want to read more into it, feel free. Whatever floats your boat :)  
**Spoilers: **Um...none, as far as I know.  
**Warnings: **Abuse, a bit of torture, me being descriptive  
**What to expect:** Bromance, introspection, angst, some whump, H/C, lots of drama, lots of worrying...oh, and some magic. Can't forget the magic :)

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Merlin :)

Just wanted to quickly say that I am really enjoying this season of Merlin :) There's just so much that's good, and I can't wait for Saturday (even though I have to work).

Only had time for a quick edit on this chapter, so if you see anything horribly wrong, please let me know, and I shall fix it :)

Onward!

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CHAPTER 7

The light spilling through the small window high on the wall of his cell was what finally woke Arthur from his rather uncomfortable and troubled sleep. He groaned in annoyance as the sunlight fell upon his closed eyes, attempting to blind him, but it very quickly turned to one of pain when he tried to shift away. Everything was sore and stiff, his body rebelling against its poor treatment. Apparently stone floors _really_ didn't make good beds (despite popular belief, Arthur _did_ actually know what it was like to sleep on less than desirable surfaces. Knights weren't always afforded the luxury of a soft bed, after all).

The prince chose to forgo moving for the moment and simply heaved a sigh instead, perfectly content to just lie there for a while longer. He couldn't help but still feel tired after having spent his night on the cold stone floor, although he was fairly certain he hadn't awoken at all through the night. That didn't mean his sleep had been restful though. He probably would have preferred being startled awake than being forced to endure the dreams that his mind had chosen to torture him with. He was pretty sure that the only reason he hadn't woken up was that the scenes had switched too often, never letting him feel the full impact before changing to something else.

A few had been rather mild, things that had troubled him often in the past, like seeing the disappointment on his father's face upon realizing that he had been captured, or seeing his friends (and sometimes his father) worrying about him, or even watching as Camelot was attacked in his absence. Some had been a good deal worse, like Barragh suddenly deciding that it would be fun to torture him or sell him to a neighboring kingdom, possibly an enemy of Camelot. There had even been one where he had almost had to watch the tyrant torture the people he loved to get information from him.

But for most of the night, he had been forced to watch himself as he failed time and time again to find Merlin. He had seen himself return to Camelot empty handed, unable to look Gaius and his father in the eye albeit for different reasons. He had watched as a faceless, nameless servant was assigned to him, doing _Merlin's_ chores (more competently) and taking up _Merlin's_ place (too quietly) in his chambers, in the castle—in his _life_—and it had all felt so _wrong_, but he hadn't been able to do anything about it. He hadn't been able to stop his father from giving him another servant, as if it was no big deal, as if they were replaceable, nothing more than a useful tool or a piece of the furniture…a mere decoration on the walls of a room.

No matter how many times he tried to explain it to him, his father just couldn't seem to understand, couldn't see servants as individual people, and couldn't understand why Arthur cared so much about finding his. The king just couldn't fathom the idea of a servant being a friend, a confidant, which is exactly what Merlin had become to him (only on pain of death would he admit it, but that didn't make it any less true). The thought of just leaving him behind, of abandoning him, of _replacing_ him was completely inconceivable. He _wouldn't_ do it, no matter the consequences. His father could throw him in the dungeons for all he cared once he returned to Camelot, just so long as Merlin returned with him.

That's all he wanted—the safe return of one man. That wasn't too much to ask, was it?

As his thoughts began to take on a rather morbid tone, he decided that he had spent more than enough time dwelling on his nightmares and all the "what ifs" that came with them, so he made the attempt to move again and found his body a bit more willing to cooperate. He was still rather stiff in places, but most of the soreness had thankfully disappeared. Arthur pushed himself up into a sitting position before slowly and carefully getting to his feet. He had been doing too much sitting lately. He needed to move around for a bit, even if that mostly just involved pacing. There honestly wasn't much else he could do, after all (he had already decided that punching the wall would be counter productive no matter how satisfying it would probably be).

Eventually though, pacing got to be rather tiring even though it had kept his mind a bit better occupied (counting his steps had proven to be a decent distraction from his rather troubled thoughts). In the end he found himself sliding down the far wall to sit on the floor once more, staring out into the hallway beyond his cell. Surely it had to be well into the morning by now, which meant that it was probably time for breakfast. Of course, there was no guarantee he'd be given any breakfast, but he was rather hoping to get some anyway.

And as much as it pained him to admit it, he was actually looking forward to the accompanying conversation more so than the food. Being on his own, locked up in a cell, was completely maddening. There was nothing to do, which would result in him thinking, and his mind wasn't exactly a place he wanted to be left alone in for too long. Last night had been more than enough proof of that. The last thing he wanted was to spend an entire day with nothing but his thoughts for company, and so when he finally heard the sound of footsteps echoing down the hall, followed by a soft click and his cell door swinging open, he couldn't help the sigh of relief that escaped him.

Arthur raised his head and looked up at the man who had become a somewhat pleasant sight in such a short amount of time, although he did his best not to let his face show just how pleased he actually was to see him. No reason to give him a big head, after all.

"Breakfast!" Owyn called out cheerfully, making his way across the cell after the door was shut and locked behind him. In one hand was a pitcher of water and an empty cup while the other was balancing a platter of what looked like some meat, cheese, and a couple slices of bread. "Afraid it's not much though, at least not compared to what you're probably used to."

The guard set everything down before filling the cup with water, a large smile stretching across his face as he did so. He seemed genuinely happy for some reason despite all that had occurred the day before. Surely he should have looked a little tired or worried or just _something_ that wasn't so ridiculously jovial, but he wasn't. He seemed to be completely back to his overly pleasant self. Honestly, Arthur wasn't sure why he had even bothered to expect anything different.

"What?" Owyn asked, once again picking up on the prince's thoughts (one day he'd figure out how he kept doing that).

"You seem to be in a _good_ mood," he commented while reaching for the platter and taking a slice of bread.

"Of course. It's a new day, after all."

_Of course,_ he parroted to himself rather sarcastically. Apparently Owyn was also one of _those _kinds of people, the irritatingly positive kind. It seemed that being a friendly, gormless idiot like Merlin just wasn't enough. Actually, Merlin could probably learn a thing or two from him in that respect, because even though the boy wasn't a true pessimist, he certainly had his moments.

Arthur almost smiled at the thought, but any and all joy he had gotten from it quickly vanished when he was once again reminded of the fact that his servant wasn't there. Against his will, his mind decided to cycle through his nightmares once more, and in the end he found himself worrying about something that he hadn't considered before. In hindsight, he probably should have.

Barragh intended to ransom him back to his father. If the king paid the ransom, then Arthur would likely be escorted back to Camelot, and there was no way his father would allow him to leave again for a long time, not unless it was necessary. He was a bit overprotective sometimes, and although it was always nice to know that his father truly did care about him, he found himself almost feeling sick at the thought, because it meant that his search would be put to an end with no means of starting another.

If he was sent back to Camelot, then he would probably never find Merlin.

It was suddenly very important for him to know if his father knew about his predicament yet.

Arthur tried to compose himself and find a way to ask his question, but in the end he simply chose to get to the point, not caring if Owyn chose to read into it or not.

"Do you know," he began, catching the guard's attention, "when Barragh plans on sending word to my father?"

"I'm afraid I don't, though I can't imagine he'd wait too long." The look Owyn gave him was a slightly scrutinizing one, a somewhat confused frown crossing the man's face. Arthur was just about to consider that look to be a victory on his part (confusion wasn't something he had seen there before) when Owyn opened his mouth and pretty much hit the metaphorical nail on the head. "Why do I get the feeling you don't exactly want him to?"

This time it was Arthur's turn to frown.

"It's not that," he insisted even while a voice whispered through his head that yes, it kind of was.

"Then what is it?"

He tried, he really did, to come up with a reasonable explanation, because he wasn't about to give him the real answer. That would involve far too much storytelling, and Owyn was still sort of a stranger to him. He wasn't about to spill the details of his life to someone he barely knew. At the same time though, far too many other answers seemed ridiculous and petty, and despite the situation, he was still a prince, and therefore he did have some dignity left to uphold. He reached for his cup of water to help disguise (or distract from) the uneasiness he was certain could be seen on his face as he tried to think of something to say.

But apparently he didn't need to come up with an explanation, because Owyn had already done it for him.

"…You're embarrassed, aren't you," he said, causing Arthur to nearly choke on his water.

"_Excuse me_?" he spluttered indignantly, but the guard seemed to be ignoring him as he crossed his arms over his chest and nodded his head in what looked like understanding, though he was fairly certain the man was just mocking him.

"It's understandable, I suppose. I'd probably be embarrassed too if I were in your position. I imagine it's a rather big blow to your pride, the thought of your father finding out you were overpowered and then captured by mercenaries and are now being held for ransom…what?"

Arthur was glowering at him, fighting the sudden urge to throw his cup at that irritating expression, one that _appeared_ to be confused about the anger being directed at him but was actually fighting not to smile.

"Has anyone ever told you you're infuriating?" he asked before reaching for his breakfast again (after setting down his cup, just in case he was unable to resist throwing it).

"Yes, actually. Repeatedly."

Arthur huffed at that while he resumed eating, doing his best to ignore the irritating excuse for a guard. It didn't work.

"I am curious though," Owyn said thoughtfully, drawing the prince's attention. "How exactly _did_ you manage to get captured?"

_Damn_. Another question he really _didn't_ want to answer.

"I mean, I can't exactly see any of Barragh's mercenaries sneaking into the heart of Camelot, let alone the castle, just to kidnap you."

He was fairly certain there was an insult in there somewhere, but he chose to ignore it…for now, anyway.

"I wasn't in Camelot. I was in a town near the border."

"By yourself?"

"Yes."

"Why?

"I was…" He cut himself off before saying anymore, clamping his mouth shut and averting his eyes. He couldn't tell him. It would be easy to, but he couldn't, and it wasn't because he didn't think that Owyn wouldn't understand. There were rules, things to keep in mind when being held prisoner, and one of them was to never offer up anything personal, anything important—give them nothing that could be used against you. As much as he wanted to, he couldn't tell him the truth, because it would mean admitting to a weakness, and last night had shown him rather vividly what he stood to lose.

If Barragh _were_ to suddenly decide that he wanted information from him, then the easiest way would be to use someone else against him (a part of him tried to reason that he didn't need to worry about that, because Merlin was _missing_, but that didn't mean that he couldn't somehow be found, and Arthur might never forgive himself if _that_ was how he reunited with his friend. It wasn't meant to happen like that…not that he had been planning it out or anything. He wasn't a girl, after all).

"…You don't have to tell me," Owyn suddenly said, his tone serious if not a bit sad, and Arthur was once again drawn in, startled by the shift in demeanor. "Not if you don't want to. I probably should have told you this earlier, but it can be dangerous to give away too much about yourself here. Barragh seems to have a penchant for finding out and using it against you, although…you shouldn't really need to worry about that. Barragh isn't trying to gain anything from _you_—not directly, at least."

He offered Arthur a small smile while the prince just stared at him curiously as a few things began to fall into place. The day before, when Owyn had first paid him a visit, the man had implied that most of the guards weren't there out of choice. He had referred to them as prisoners, just with a bit more freedom to move around, which didn't really make sense unless there was something keeping them there, a reason behind their almost self-imposed imprisonment. After all, good people didn't serve evil men, not unless they were being forced or coerced into doing so. It certainly wasn't the best form of employment—the help would be more inclined to stab you in the back than actually help you—but there were many who used such methods, who relied on fear and threats to make people do as they wanted.

As much as it wasn't his business, he couldn't help but wonder what some of them stood to lose if they went against Barragh. Somehow he got the feeling that it was more than just threats to their own lives. With that in mind, he also found himself wondering why the cheerful man sitting adjacent to him seemed to have no qualms whatsoever about going behind his jailer's back when there would surely be a cost to him if the man were to ever find out. What did someone like Owyn stand to lose, and why was he so careless about risking it?

Well, it certainly wouldn't hurt to ask. After all, the guard had been prying into _his_ life, so surely he could do the same. It was only fair. Besides, it's not like _he_ could use it against him (or that he'd even want to).

Arthur schooled his expression into something neutral before casually reaching for his platter again, and after popping a small slice of meat in his mouth, he leaned back and asked, "So what is he holding over you then?"

The look his question earned him was completely worth the faked nonchalance he had used to ask it. Genuine surprise was another new expression, and he found that it felt rather good not being the one thrown through a loop for once.

"How…?" Owyn began only to trail off, but he didn't need to continue. It was easy enough to guess what he was asking.

"You told me before that most of you are prisoners here," he said, and then simply because he felt it was necessary, he added, "Besides, I can't imagine you'd be working for someone like Barragh unless he was somehow forcing you to."

Owyn seemed to pick up on the hidden compliment, a smile crossing his face once more before he heaved a sigh in resignation and slumped against the wall.

"I suppose I have to give you credit there. You're a lot sharper than I thought."

…Well, so much for his earlier victory. Apparently the cheerful guard was rather well-versed in the art of banter. His automatic response of "shut up" very nearly left his mouth, but he clamped down on it and settled for scowling instead as he picked at a few more pieces of his breakfast. He kept his eyes on Owyn though, waiting to see if the man would answer his question or not. The guard had turned his eyes to the ceiling, a thoughtful look on his face as he reclined against the wall with his hands behind his head. He was clearly thinking about something, and that was just fine. Arthur could be patient when he wanted (or needed) to be. Many a boring council meeting under his father's watchful eye had taught him that (plus, Arthur was pretty sure that a person had to have the patience of a saint to put up with Merlin, which obviously meant that _his_ patience was probably at a godlike level by now).

When the prince was about halfway through the food on his plate, Owyn finally decided to deign him with an answer…and it really wasn't one that he had expected.

"…My estate," he said softly, keeping his eyes averted, trained on the stones of the ceiling. "Barragh controls it. He bought his way in through our king by bartering weapons for land, so he now owns a rather large chunk of the kingdom, and my family's estate happens to be a part of it. Mind you, I have no siblings, so when my parents died, I inherited everything they left behind, and Barragh used that against me. He threatened to strip my title and my claims, everything my family had built and strived for, and in the beginning, that thought terrified me…but the more time I spent here, the less I began to care. I started to wonder if it was really worth it, demeaning myself for the sake of wealth and land, my family's so called 'legacy.'

"Most of the people working for Barragh are here for the sake of their families and friends, their villages, their people. Some are even here because he threatened their lives directly and they're too afraid of death to oppose him, but for the majority, it's because of the people they love. Take Rordan, for example—you haven't met him yet, I don't think, but he's a good friend of mine, one of the noblest men I know. He's married to a wonderful woman, and they have the cutest little girl…and Barragh has threatened to kill them both if he doesn't behave.

"...My reason seemed petty by comparison." A wry smile crossed his face, followed by a shrug of his shoulders as he finally lowered his eyes from the ceiling and met Arthur's. "So I simply stopped caring. Decided to try helping people for a change, even if Barragh were to one day find out—though I'd really prefer if he didn't. Right now he still thinks he can control me by threatening my title and my property. I don't need him to find something _else_ to use against me…or someone."

"Someone?" he asked, because Owyn had already admitted to not having any family that could be used against him. Who exactly did that leave for Barragh to threaten?

_Oh_…of course. He had just said it, hadn't he. After all, family wasn't the only thing that could drive a person to the depths of self-sacrifice.

"That's the price you pay for kindness. The more you choose to care, the more you stand to lose, and the more vulnerable you become…but I think it's better to take the risk than to not care at all."

Arthur remained silent, trying to find the right words, but what could he possibly say to something like that? Perhaps at one point or another in his life, he would have argued that fact, would have claimed that showing care and kindness was a weakness, that it was unnecessary, but he knew that wasn't true, nor was it realistic, and it was no way to live. Not even his father was immune to the irrationality that came with caring for another person.

It was easy enough to pretend, to feign indifference, to fight and scoff and say things like "do your worst" when you were condemning yourself, but it was another thing entirely when your actions would condemn another, a loved one, a friend. Compassion and empathy truly were the greatest of weaknesses…and yet they were also the greatest of strengths. They could push a person beyond their limits, give them something that was worth fighting for, worth protecting, and earn them not only trust and respect but unfailing loyalty. It was far better to take the risk than to throw oneself into isolation and solitude, because even though many often sought it, there was no one who could truly endure it.

He would rather be the kind of ruler—the kind of man—that people followed and respected because they knew he cared about them. He wanted loyalty forged by trust, not fear.

When he raised his gaze from the stone floor where it had shifted during his thoughts, he met Owyn's with complete understanding, and for the first time he felt like he finally understood the other man. He was certainly a lot wiser than he seemed (much like a certain clumsy servant, actually. Maybe that was why it was so easy to talk to him. It would also explain that odd sense of familiarity he had felt the last time they had spoken).

While getting lost in his thoughts, he failed to see the amused glint flash in the other man's eyes, and so he was rather caught off guard when Owyn once again returned their conversation back to where it had begun, something that he was apparently rather talented at.

"So, care to tell me why you were in a town near the border all by yourself?" he asked with a grin, startling the prince (curse him). "Don't princes usually have knights with them?"

"I couldn't risk bringing them," he replied matter-of-factly while he began to pick at his food again, hoping that would be enough put an end to that particular line of questioning. It wasn't.

"Why?"

A beat of silence—just a moment of hesitation and discomfort on his part, and the guard found his answer.

"…You snuck out, didn't you."

"_No_!" he replied indignantly (if not a bit petulantly). "I just…told my father I was going hunting, and I couldn't risk that word would get back to him that I wasn't. I may lead the knights, but I can't order them to lie to their king."

"So then what were you _really_ doing?"

Arthur hesitated again, but this time for a completely different reason. Earlier, before that conversation about Barragh and threats, he had been contemplating the consequences of telling him the truth, and now he knew how real those fears could potentially be. However, he kind of owed him at least some sort of explanation. The guard had entrusted him with a great deal of his own thoughts and reasons. The least Arthur could do was offer him a bit of the same. Besides, he knew that whatever he said would be kept between them. At least in that respect, he could trust him.

"I was looking for someone."

Whether Owyn had been expecting it or not, he didn't seem the least bit surprised at the answer.

"Someone important?" he queried, curious and unassuming, and Arthur found himself hesitating _again_, because, well…it was _Merlin_, and that wasn't generally a word associated with insolent, mentally-afflicted servants…or servants of any kind, really.

"I wouldn't say important…"

"But they're important to you?"

He found himself immediately opening his mouth to deny any such thing, but the words got stuck somewhere in his throat and refused to come up no matter how strongly he willed them to. They were a reflex on his part, an ingrained need to deny any sort of emotional attachment, but if he let those words escape, they would be nothing more than a lie. He couldn't do it. He just couldn't, because even though Merlin was a servant, a peasant, he _was_ important—not because he was a particularly _good_ servant or anything, because he kind of wasn't, but because he mattered, because he was loved by a great many people…and because Arthur couldn't accept the thought of returning home without his only friend by his side.

"…Yes," he finally admitted in a voice that likely wouldn't have been heard if not for the silence of his cell. Just this once, he would tell the truth. It actually kind of felt good to say it for once (though he had no intention whatsoever of actually saying it to Merlin), and the strange look of acceptance he received almost made swallowing his pride worth it.

…Almost.

_And besides_, he reasoned as he went back to finishing off his breakfast, _it's not like Merlin will ever find out anyway._

* * *

**A/N:** How many of you are betting that Arthur is wrong about that? :) I do love adorable, fluffy moments, after all (which might be a bit hard to tell given the content in most of my fics). Also, I think it'll probably only be one or two more chapters before we get to what everyone has probably been waiting for ;)

So anyway, I hope you enjoyed the chapter. It certainly feels strange to be writing so much dialogue and so little action, but I do rather love getting to do all the introspection :) Hopefully you all like it too, and thank you so much to all who are reading and to everyone who has dropped a review. I love hearing from you, and whether it be a review or a PM, I truly apreciate all the support. It truly does make my day when I see the alerts in my inbox, so thank you :)

Now I really need to go to sleep so I can be up in 4 hours again...sigh. I really need to manage my time better.

Until next week!


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N:** Well, here we go. The longest chapter yet, and it has the longest conversation I have quite possibly ever written, so hopefully it turned out alright. I may end up adding a few more details when I go back through it again on Thursday, cause I'm not 100% satisfied with some of it, though oddly enough, the dialogue isn't included in that. For once, that part was actually easier :)

**Title: **Of Twisted Morals and Human Weaponry  
**Author: **BeyondTheStorm  
**Rating: **T for...well, a lot of things. Some language, some violence, the whole general situation, a bit of torture, etc.  
**Characters/pairings:** The cast is as follows: Merlin, Arthur, an antagonist, two guards with names, and a few without. Merlin and Arthur are the main focus of this story. Oh, and no pairings. Only friendship here, though if you want to read more into it, feel free. Whatever floats your boat :)  
**Spoilers: **Um...none, as far as I know.  
**Warnings: **Abuse, a bit of torture, me being descriptive  
**What to expect:** Bromance, introspection, angst, some whump, H/C, lots of drama, lots of worrying...oh, and some magic. Can't forget the magic :)

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Merlin :)

So, I do this to myself every November, which is work on a fic while I'm supposed to be writing for NaNoWriMo, but I'm going to try to balance both regardless. I'm trying to take NaNo seriously this year, because I really do want to publish something. It would be nice to be able to make my way as an author instead of running myself into the ground while trying to balance everything, though I'm still not entirely sure if I'm good enough. I would like to try though :)

Anyway, onward, and I hope you enjoy the chapter :)

* * *

CHAPTER 8

Strangely enough (or perhaps it wasn't really strange at all, all things considered), it took Barragh three days after the flogging to finally visit him, though he would have much rather preferred that the man not even bother. He was still in pain most of the time, but thankfully it had lessened significantly over those three days. He had both his magic and Rordan to thank for that. The guard came regularly to change his bandages and make sure the wounds weren't infected. Even though he wasn't a physician, he wasn't half bad at it. Perhaps that was one of the reasons that Barragh deemed it necessary to keep him around.

He had actually been expecting Rordan when the door to his cell creaked open, but the grinning face that greeted him was smug and cruel instead of caring. The weapons dealer just walked in with all the arrogance of a selfish, narcissistic lord, and Merlin made sure to keep his expression indifferent in response. The last thing he wanted was to show discomfort or fear in the man's presence, because it would do him no favors. It would only give Barragh a reason for his smug grin and his haughty attitude.

No, it was better to just ignore him. He was good at that.

"So," his captor began, "how's my favorite prisoner doing?"

Merlin said nothing, only glared in response, but Barragh pressed on anyway, looking more amused than frustrated with his silence.

"Come now, don't be like that. You brought this on yourself, after all."

As true as that was, he didn't much care. It's not like he could undo any of it, and even if he could, he wasn't sure if he would. This had happened because he had pushed a little too far, been a little too insolent, but he had absolutely no intention of submitting in any way, shape, or form. He wasn't one for bowing and scraping (just ask Arthur), least of all to a man who saw him as nothing more than an asset…a weapon.

When Barragh came up to his cot, Merlin looked away and did his best not to flinch as his back was examined. Rordan had used fewer bandages that morning when he had redressed the wounds, and as a result, parts of them were visible. He had said that they were closed for the most part but that he needed to be careful for a few more days to make sure they wouldn't reopen. A few of the cuts had been particularly nasty, but given that no one could stitch them, they had had to close on their own, which took a good deal longer even with his magic supposedly helping the process along.

Some of them were going to scar though. Not even his magic was enough to stop that.

"Looks like you're healing," Barragh said once he was finally done with his inspection. "Suppose I should thank those two. After all, you're no use to me dead."

Merlin was surprised at that statement for all of a second before realizing that _of course_ Barragh knew. There was no way he couldn't. He would have to be a complete idiot not to notice how often Rordan and Owyn disappeared or that supplies seemed to continuously vanish from his stores. Obviously he knew some of what they were doing—there was a good chance he had even given the order, although the warlock doubted he knew the full extent of their actions. He had probably only told them to keep him from dying, not to regularly visit him, bring him three (and sometimes four or five) meals a day, and supply him with potions to help with the pain.

No, there was no way he knew, and Merlin certainly wasn't going to tell him. The two of them were his friends, after all, and they were taking a huge risk doing even that much for him. If ever Barragh found out, it wouldn't be from him.

"You know," the man began, dragging the word out as he walked to the front of the cot, trying to gain the warlock's attention, "you could have easily avoided this. All you had to do was swear loyalty to me and none of this would have happened."

His tone was so laid back, so matter-of-fact that Merlin found himself raising his eyes to meet Barragh's. The look he found there was so pompous, so condescending and condemning and so incredibly _conceited_ that he found he could no longer feign indifference. This man believed he was superior, that he could simply take what he wanted without a care, as if it were his due, and all his words were painted with fake benevolence and fake understanding and far too much self-confidence.

The lord was the worst kind of egotistical bigot. He was even worse than Uther, and, well…Merlin never had been very good at keeping his mouth shut.

"I already told you," he hissed out, quiet but with all the intensity he could manage in his weakened state, staring the man down unflinchingly. "I don't care what you do to me. You will _never_ have my loyalty." And much like the last time he had said such a thing, Barragh's demeanor twisted, his smug mask falling away, and the man completely snapped.

He reached down and fisted a hand in the warlock's dark hair, pulling him up by it, forcing his back to arch and his wounds to stretch—not enough to reopen the ones that were still a bit raw but enough to make them _hurt_. He couldn't hold back the sharp cry that forced its way up his throat, his eyes clenching shut as his vision went white and his stomach rolled.

He really, _really_ should have kept his mouth shut, but he couldn't bring himself to regret his words. His magic, his _life_, was his and his alone, and he had already made his choice as to how he would use it. Nothing was going to change that.

"You are _really_ starting to try my patience, _boy_!" Barragh snarled, and Merlin quickly decided that perhaps it was a good thing he was in too much pain to talk, because he got the feeling that most of the comments he could make on that statement wouldn't do him any favors. "Don't think you'll get away with it unpunished."

Barragh released him, letting him fall back to his cot and pulling another pained yelp from him before stomping across the room and towards the door. He threw it open with a bang and then turned back to the warlock. Merlin watched him with as much defiance as he could muster given what had just happened, but it turned out to be more than enough to earn him a livid glare and a completely unveiled threat in return.

"I've broken many sorcerers over the years, some even more defiant than you. One way or another, you _will_ submit to me."

The poor excuse for a noble was just about to walk out the door when Merlin, needing to have the last word (and because he really _was_ the world's most insolent servant) conjured up the rest of his strength and proved once and for all that Arthur was right about him. He really was an idiot.

"Don't count on it."

The slamming of the door resounded throughout the room with a sense of finality.

He would come to regret those words.

* * *

Arthur was fairly certain that if not for the fact that the guards brought him meals regularly (and occasionally irregularly), he would have lost track of time by now. That and he probably would have died of boredom at some point. He was pretty sure it was possible; a person could only take doing nothing for so long before completely losing their mind.

…And okay, maybe that was a bit dramatic, but as the prince of Camelot, he was surely entitled to be. After all, he wasn't used to spending so much time sitting around and being confined to a small space. In Camelot there was always something for him to be doing, whether it was patrolling, training the knights, attending the council, arguing with his father, piling chores on Merlin (he winced a bit at that one and vowed to do better if—_when_—he got his friend back), or even on rare occasions reading. Here there was nothing. Barragh hadn't even deemed him worthy enough to visit, and Arthur had actually been hoping he would if only so that the prince could take out some of his pent up frustration on him (not the best plan, but it would have made him feel better).

The only thing that had been able to break up the monotony in any way whatsoever was Owyn. The guard always brought him at least one of his meals each day, and unlike the other guards who would usually just drop off the food and come back for the dishes later, he always stayed and talked. Sometimes he just rambled, but most of the time he was either asking or answering questions. The two of them had had some rather interesting conversations, some of them serious and some of them not. He had managed to learn a bit more about Barragh at least, and how he had come to own his castle. He had learned about the kingdom and its king as well as the type of people who dwelled within his realm. He had even ended up learning a bit more about the guards, but there _were_ a few topics they stayed away from.

Owyn never mentioned the other prisoners (with the exception of their first real conversation) and Arthur never mentioned Merlin (not directly, at least). Both of them were rather good at steering the conversation away from the things they didn't want to discuss, and there was enough respect between them not to push the other into talking about it. However, they _had_ had some rather difficult conversations (difficult for Arthur), because Owyn liked to discuss things, to make people think, to challenge opinions and beliefs and offer up his own, and as much as it pained him to admit it, the man was actually rather wise. It made for good and often interesting discourse.

So he really shouldn't have been surprised when, after almost a week of his captivity (six days, to be exact), Owyn walked through the door, delivered the prince's supper, and the proceeded to ask with a smile on his face, "So, how do you feel about magic?"

It was a good thing he hadn't had the chance to eat or drink anything yet, because he was fairly certain it would have ended up on the floor. That or he would have choked to death. As it were, he snapped his head up to meet Owyn's seemingly inconspicuous gaze with an incredulous one of his own.

"Why?" he asked, the word coming out a bit harsher than he intended, but the guard didn't seem the least bit put off by it.

"Just curious," was the reply, accompanied by a shrug, as if the answer didn't really matter to him even though it obviously did. He wouldn't have bothered to ask if he wasn't interested, and even though this wasn't a topic that Arthur wanted to talk too much about, he got the feeling that Owyn wouldn't let him get out of it. It was better to just give his answer and get it over with.

"I don't condone the use of magic," he told him while reaching out to grab a few of the berries off his plate. "It's dangerous, as are those who practice it. It's against the law in Camelot."

"…I didn't ask about the law." There it was again, that shift in tone that he had become familiar with over the past few days. The guard was able to change his demeanor so suddenly that it often left the prince confused and trying to catch back up. This time around was no different. "I wasn't asking what _Camelot_ thinks or what your_ father_ thinks. I asked how _you_ feel about magic."

"What's the difference?"

"There's a big difference. You're your own person, so you should have your own opinions. Just because someone tells you something is or isn't a certain way doesn't mean it's true. You should try to see things with your own eyes, because the truth can be a lot of different things to a lot of different people. You'll find that most things often aren't one way or another."

Arthur gripped his cup rather tightly, feeling just a little frustrated and perhaps a bit angry (he _really_ hated talking about magic), so instead of answering the question or commenting on Owyn's little bit of philosophical advice, he deflected.

"What's your opinion then?" he asked haughtily, fighting the urge to cross his arms over his chest in a classic manner of defense and defiance. He couldn't hold back the scowl though, but the guard didn't seem fazed by it in the slightest. Arthur's question did, however, earn him a rather stunned stare in response, those green eyes blinking a few times in genuine surprise.

"Mine?" It almost sounded like he had never been asked before, as if he had never really had to consider it. He turned his eyes towards the ceiling like he often did when giving up something about himself, and Arthur waited for the response he knew would be coming shortly. "Hmm…I guess I've never really thought about it. I don't really have an opinion on magic. I think it's incredible, but as far as seeing it as good or evil, to me, magic just _is_. It's something you either have or you don't…although…"

His expression fell along with his voice, and Arthur wasn't sure what he had been expecting to hear, but it certainly wasn't what followed.

"…I'm starting to pity the ones that do."

"What?" he asked, shocked, though it came out sounding more like indignant. "Why? It was their choice to practice it."

"Not always."

"What?" He knew he was starting to repeat himself, but he couldn't quite help it, because that…_that_ was something he hadn't heard before. That wasn't what he had been told, what his father and so many others had taught him over the years. Magic was a choice—it had to be, and yet those two simple words were attempting to completely unravel that way of thinking. They paled though in comparison to what followed.

"A talent for magic is something you're born with," Owyn began, his eyes drifting briefly over to Arthur before returning to the ceiling. "You either have magic or you don't. Some people can go their whole lives without ever realizing it's there, and sometimes it awakens on it's own, whether the person wants it to or not. Choosing to study it and to learn spells is a choice, but having it isn't…and I guess, sometimes, a person isn't really given any choice whatsoever in using it either. Sometimes magic is instinctive. It just happens, whether they want it to or not."

Arthur wanted to say something. He wanted to tell him that that was ridiculous, that magic had to be learned and practiced, that it wasn't something instinctual, that there was _always_ a choice, but the words wouldn't come, and Owyn wasn't done talking. As much as he wanted to just tell him that he was wrong, a part of him felt the need to listen, to hear what he had to say even though his words were trying to shatter everything Arthur had believed to be true about magic and the people who used it.

"Magic is both a gift and a curse, just like any other form of power. It can be a terrible responsibility, and I pity those with it because most people don't understand. Sorcerers are persecuted, feared, hated, or they're used by cruel people with selfish intentions, treated as tools or weapons, and all because of the way they were born, for something they can't help being.

"Don't get me wrong. I don't condone the use of magic for selfish gain or for harming others—people need to be held responsible for their actions—but I know that in Camelot, sorcerers are executed simply for having magic, regardless of whether or not they've actually used it. Even children are killed simply because their parents were sorcerers, and I'm sure plenty of parents have been executed as well just for having a child with magic. People are killed simply for the way they were born, for _existing_."

Those green eyes fell from their place on the ceiling and bore straight into his, burning with both righteousness and a deep-seated grief.

"You can't possibly believe that that's right."

_No_. No, it really wasn't. It was perhaps one of the few areas of magic where he vehemently disagreed with his father. A child can't choose their parents just as parents can't choose their children, and it was wrong to kill someone just because of how they were born. He also couldn't condone killing by association, executing entire families when there was no proof of their guilt. He just _couldn't_, and magic or not, he could _never_ bring himself to kill a _child_. He knew that according to his father it was treasonous to think like that, that magic was magic no matter the age or the nature of the user…but it just felt wrong.

_Magic is evil._ How many times had he heard those words over the years? How many times had he seen first hand the damage and destruction that a single sorcerer could cause? How often had his kingdom, his people, suffered at the hands of magic? Before the great purge, magic had nearly destroyed Camelot. I had been for the best to rid the kingdom of it. His father couldn't have been wrong about that.

But if having magic wasn't a choice…

"I've been told that magic corrupts," he began, his voice nowhere near as steady as he would have liked it to be, his mind too much at war with itself to fully support the words he was saying, "that it can twist even the purest of hearts."

"No," Owyn said—no admonishing, no attacking, just stating his thoughts like he always did, calmly and with a sense of knowing. "_Power_ corrupts. Fear and anger, bitterness, self-righteousness, hatred…_those_ corrupt. Magic itself can't do anything without a mind and a heart to guide it. The wielder is the one who decides how it's used. I won't deny that magic is dangerous, but it's _not_ evil. Good and evil are human concepts—they dwell only in the hearts of people. Magic just…_is_."

"You talk as if you know a lot about it." Arthur was only just realizing how little _he_ actually knew, how much he didn't understand, because as much as he didn't want to admit it, Owyn's way of looking at it made sense. His words were too sure and his expression too serious for him to be lying. It wasn't easy to accept. He wasn't sure if he even could, but for now he would just continue to hear him out. He could think about it more and sort out his thoughts later.

"I do," the guard admitted, though he didn't seem at all happy or proud about it. "I've…met a lot of sorcerer while working for Barragh."

This time around Arthur did almost choke, though thankfully it was just water. His whole body went tense at the thought that there were sorcerers in the castle, that Barragh had people like that around him, possibly working for him.

"What do you mean?" he asked, needing an answer so that his mind could hopefully be put at ease. Owyn just fixed him with a thoughtful, cautions look, and Arthur instantly knew that whatever answer he received wouldn't be a very direct one. The guard had a rather bad habit of answering the questions Arthur _really_ wanted answers to with _more_ questions. This time proved not to be any different.

"How much do you know about Barragh?" It wasn't exactly a question he had been expecting, but it was easy enough to answer.

"Only what you've told me, and what I've been able to see for myself." Which wasn't much, and the little he did know wasn't all that useful. It certainly wasn't anything that could help him escape.

"…Barragh is a weapons dealer," Owyn began, and Arthur was about to point out that he already knew that, but before he could even open his mouth, the guard cut him off, "who specializes in magic."

Well, there went pretty much any hope he had of ever being able to escape.

"He can't use it himself," Owyn continued, "nor can any of us, but he has a lot of tools and weapons that can be used against it or to enhance it. He also…" The guard clenched his fists, his eyes narrowing as he grit his teeth in a show of repressed anger, something the prince wasn't used to seeing on the normally cheerful man. Whatever he was about to say was clearly something that didn't sit well with him at all. "…He sells sorcerers as weapons."

Arthur was fairly sure that he had never, not in a hundred years, expected to feel indignant on a _sorcerer's_ behalf, but alas.

"He _sells_ them?"

Owyn nodded, and the prince found himself feeling even more repulsed by the tyrant of a lord, because people _weren't_ objects. What right did he have to treat them as if they were?

"I'm sure you can well imagine that sorcerers aren't the easiest people to find, but out of every type of 'magical weapon,' they sell for the highest, so Barragh started capturing sorcerers. When he began to have a hard time of it, he started hiring mercenaries to go out and look for people with magic. He has quite a few groups of them now, spread throughout the neighboring kingdoms. Once they find someone, they take them as discretely as possible, usually at night or while they're out on an errand. It doesn't always work out—sometimes they get themselves noticed—but they usually bring in a few every couple of months or so. There was even a group in Camelot not too long ago, but they were taken out by a patrol of knights. A few managed to escape, but Barragh disposed of them when they returned—"

"Wait," Arthur cut in, because he remembered that incident rather well (it had only been a month ago). People had been disappearing from some of the surrounding villages, so his father had sent him and the knights to deal with the mercenaries responsible for it. "Those men were Barragh's?"

What sort of cruel twist of fate was this?

Thankfully he wasn't the only one feeling a bit gobsmacked by that revelation. Owyn's mutual shock was only a small comfort, but at this point he would take whatever he could get.

"You were a part of that patrol?"

"Yes. We had received word of a group of men suspected of taking people, so my father sent us to stop them…what?"

Owyn was grinning again, the smile spreading across his face slowly, but it was sardonic at best and void of any of his usual lightheartedness. He huffed a soft, almost bitter but amused laugh as he leant back against the wall and fixed his gaze across the cell.

"It's a bit ironic, isn't it," he began, "Uther sending you out to stop a group of men from kidnapping sorcerers."

…Oh. He hadn't actually thought of that.

"If he had known what they were really doing, he probably would have rewarded them for providing a service to the kingdom."

This time it was Arthur who clenched his fists and gritted his teeth out of repressed anger, because how _dare_ he. How dare he say something like that as if it were _funny_!

"Those _people_ had done no wrong."

"But they had magic."

And just like that, he found himself back at the beginning. Owyn once again brought everything back full circle. The guard had questioned him, given his own beliefs, challenged Arthur's, and then shifted the conversation to Barragh only to lead him into a mental and verbal trap where he couldn't just pretend that the issue didn't exist, that it was all separated into black and white with nothing in between. He couldn't retract his words, couldn't justify them, and he didn't want to have to, but Owyn was right about his father and what he would have done if he had known. He would have left them alone, allowed them to continue their work, because he didn't care whether or not a sorcerer actually used their magic or what they used it for. Having it was enough for him to condemn them, no matter how honestly or innocently they had been living, no matter how dear they were to the people around them.

He couldn't accept that, but if he didn't…what then? Where did that leave him?

"…The law makes no exceptions," Owyn said, and by now Arthur was certain that the other man _could_ actually somehow read his thoughts, because his insight was always provided with shocking accuracy. "By your father's decree, all who have magic, who consort with sorcerers, and who know and conceal a sorcerer are to be executed, no matter their reasons. Under his rule, even a healer would be put to death for saving someone's life simply because they used magic to do so. Do you agree with that?"

_No. No, but…_

"Magic is dangerous…"

"It is, but so are weapons, and _everyone_ has the potential to use those. All people are capable of great destruction, and yet we don't pass judgment on them just for having the potential to cause harm. Why should it be any different with magic?"

Arthur didn't say anything. For the longest time he just sat there, trying to put everything together, to find a way to reconcile his truth and his father's truth with Owyn's, because he didn't want to believe that any of it was wrong, but he knew it was impossible. His father, who believed that all magic and all who associated themselves with it needed to be destroyed, and Owyn, who believed that magic wasn't evil, that a person's actions and their choices were what should really be judged. It couldn't be both ways.

Owyn had asked him, back at the start of their conversation, how _he_ felt about magic, but the truth was he didn't really know. He often tried to avoid thinking about it, to just accept his king's word on the matter like he was expected to, because he knew that if he spent too much time contemplating it, he'd probably arrive at a conclusion far different than his father's. It certainly wouldn't be the first time though. After all, he was in this position _because_ his way of seeing things was different. He had no trouble whatsoever disagreeing with him about his servant, so maybe, just maybe…it was okay to disagree with him a bit on this as well?

"…I've never really met a sorcerer who wasn't trying to kill or deceive me," he mused aloud, waiting to see what Owyn would have to say.

"Well, I have. You probably have too, you just don't know it. Magic _can_ be hidden, after all. There are plenty of sorcerers who just want to live peacefully, and so they would have had no reason to use their magic on you."

It made sense. It all did, really.

As Arthur got lost in his thoughts, mindlessly picking at the food still left on his plate (he certainly didn't remember eating so much of it, but that was also something rather common during Owyn's visits. The man was a bit distracting), he didn't see the determined if not somewhat wary look flash across the guard's face. He didn't see his shoulders straighten or his gaze become fixed and focused, but he did hear when he opened his mouth to start yet another conversation, because one way or another, he always got the answers to his questions whether the prince was aware of it or not.

"Can I ask you something?" he began, drawing Arthur's attention. "If you were to meet someone with magic who had done no wrong, who meant you no harm—someone who may as well be the very definition of a good person…what would you do? If you met a sorcerer who only ever used their magic to help others, would you still hand them over to be executed?"

It should have been a difficult question. It should have put him at odds with everything he had been told, all he had grown up believing in, the lessons he had been taught as a child, but in the end it didn't. There had been so many moments in the past few years where he had been uncertain of his father's actions when dealing with magic. The king had been willing to execute Gwen for healing her father and causing a plague, neither of which had been her doing, but if either had been proved true, the result would have been the same. He didn't understand it then and he still didn't now, because where was the evil in saving a man's life?

There had also been that incident with the druid boy, a child that his father was going to behead simply because he was a druid, because he had been born that way, and that was enough of a reason for him. How many druids had been slaughtered over the years for no other reason than the mere fact that they existed?

"If…" he began, swallowing deeply before pressing on, "if there really was a sorcerer like that…" If there really was a good sorcerer, someone who only used their magic for the sake of others, who had been born with a gift but harbored no resentment or ill-will toward those who persecuted them for it, then… "No. I don't think I would."

"It would be an act of treason. Could you live with that?"

Gwen, the druid boy, all the times he had defied his father for one reason or another and for one person in particular…

"…Yes, I could. I have done." And he would continue to do so if his heart told him it was the right thing to do, regardless of the consequences. Uther was his father and his king, but he wasn't Arthur, just as Arthur wasn't him. Two separate people, two separate truths—that was how it worked. He could have his own opinions. Surely that wasn't a crime.

"_So how do you feel about magic?"_

He still didn't have an answer, but the look on Owyn's face, so full of relief and pride and something else that he couldn't quite place but that was no less overjoyed, made him think that just maybe, he didn't really need one.

* * *

**A/N:** So, if all goes according to plan, next chapter will be the start of what everyone has been waiting for. Don't be surprised if I end it in a cliffhanger though. I've been fairly nice this time around, so it's bound to happen sooner or later :)

I'm sorry I didn't get around to the responses for the last chapter. The only day I had off between then and now was Thursday, and that was spent mostly with my sister. I should be able to manage this time though since I have Thursday plus the whole weekend to play with. Feel free to ask me whatever you want, and don't be afraid to give your honest opinion. I love hearing from all of you :)

That's all for now. Until next week!


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N:** Well, here we go. I give you the longest chapter yet, clocking in at over 6,000 words :) Most of which were written yesterday so that I would only have to proofread today (since my sister and I spent the night watching Anime since she had to work yesterday. That being said, anime fans, go watch Durarara. It's amazing and has become one of my favorite shows ever! *end shameless plug*).  
And hurray! I might actually get more than 4 hours of sleep tonight :) Still not a lot, but it's an improvement.

**Title: **Of Twisted Morals and Human Weaponry  
**Author: **BeyondTheStorm  
**Rating: **T for...well, a lot of things. Some language, some violence, the whole general situation, a bit of torture, etc.  
**Characters/pairings:** The cast is as follows: Merlin, Arthur, an antagonist, two guards with names, and a few without. Merlin and Arthur are the main focus of this story. Oh, and no pairings. Only friendship here, though if you want to read more into it, feel free. Whatever floats your boat :)  
**Spoilers: **Um...none, as far as I know.  
**Warnings: **Abuse, a bit of torture, me being descriptive  
**What to expect:** Bromance, introspection, angst, some whump, H/C, lots of drama, lots of worrying...oh, and some magic. Can't forget the magic :)

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Merlin :)

Not much to say this time, just that I hope you enjoy :) This is the chapter that many have been asking for, after all :)

* * *

CHAPTER 9

The castle was silent under the cover of darkness, the only sounds being the occasional echo of footsteps through the corridors from the patrolling guards. Most of the castle's residents and staff had turned in for the night, including its master, which left those who were still up far more at ease than they often were during the day. It was much easier to talk and move about without their tyrant of a lord breathing down their necks or listening in to their conversations. Therefore, it was the perfect opportunity for a plan to slowly be put into motion.

As he made his way through the halls, lit only by torchlight, Rordan made no effort to hide himself from the patrols as he walked quickly towards his destination. No one questioned his presence nor did they try to bar his access, even when he reached a part of the castle that no one was supposed to enter so late at night. However, he still remained as quiet as possible as he slipped into an alcove and made his way towards one of the supply rooms, a bag slung over his shoulder.

Once he reached his destination, he quickly unlocked the room and ducked in, closing the door behind him. He made sure that not a soul had seen him enter, because even though he trusted most of the guards not to say anything, he still couldn't risk that word would get back to Barragh. If the man were to ever find out about what he had been doing for the past few weeks, he would certainly punish him for it. After all, it was one thing to sneak a bit of extra food and a blanket or two, but stealing enough supplies for a few days' journey was another thing entirely.

So, in order to leave the man in the dark about his actions, he had been taking things discretely. A shirt here, some bandages there, clothing, oil, flint, herbs, anything he could think of that would be useful if someone were to be out in the woods for a few days without shelter or a horse to ease the trip. He had already filled a few water skins, secured a bit of food that wouldn't spoil for at least another week (mostly nuts and some dried meat. He'd worry about the rest later), and had even managed to pilfer a dagger. He would have to see if he could manage to get a sword as well, just in case.

For now though, he was simply searching for a few more necessities needed for taking care of wounds. It was true that Merlin was healing well, that he had even regained some of his strength, but he was far from well. He was still going to be in pain for a while, but at least there was no longer a risk of his wounds reopening. He would likely make a full recovery so long as he didn't try anything stupid (which unfortunately wasn't likely given his current record). Rordan was going to have to talk to him soon, to try and convince him not to do anything reckless, that they had a plan to get him out of the castle and on his way back home. He just needed to be patient.

So focused was he on his mission to find sufficient supplies that he didn't notice the sound of approaching footsteps, growing louder and louder as they got closer to the room. He did, however, notice when the door was thrown open and then just as forcefully closed, causing him to nearly drop not only the bag in his arms but his torch as well as he tried to reach for the sword at his side. He was met with a pair of raised arms, a show of both peace and an attempt to placate. The guard just sighed, letting the tension flow out of him at the familiar sight of light hair and green eyes.

"Owyn," he said softly though not without a bit of chastising. "I thought I asked you not to do that."

"Sorry," the man replied sheepishly as he lowered his arms. "Honestly, I didn't mean to scare you, but I really need to talk to you."

"What is it?"

Owyn came closer, glancing around a bit before lowering his voice to something just shy of a whisper.

"We can trust the prince," he said with absolute certainty, a small smile on his face, and Rordan was instantly curious if not a bit wary. After all, he had yet to actually meet the crown prince of Camelot, although he had certainly heard plenty about him from Owyn as well as some of the other guards. It wasn't that he doubted Owyn's word on it, but he couldn't just trust Arthur Pendragon without some sort of proof that he was actually worth it. A life was at stake, and a precious one at that.

"Are you sure?" he asked, because he needed to know, needed to be one hundred percent sure that they weren't about to make a huge mistake. It wouldn't do to save their friend only to condemn him to another cruel fate.

"Yes. He pretty much admitted that he doesn't agree with his father when it comes to magic." That was actually a bit hard to believe, but he knew Owyn wasn't lying. For the past week, he had been trying to get to know the prince, to get a feel for the type of person he really was instead of how he was often perceived to be. He had even gotten him to admit a few things that he likely wouldn't have under different circumstances, but if there was one thing Owyn was good at, it was talking. He was friendly and honest enough that most people would eventually let their guard down around him—a useful but rather dangerous skill, and Rordan was just grateful that the man was a genuinely kind human being.

It was a good thing that Barragh didn't have a true hold on him and didn't know just how sly the man actually was. He would be a dangerous enemy, because in most cases, he had found that out of all the weapons available to man, wit and intelligence combined with the power of words was by far the most deadly. A sword could wound a man, but a traitor masked as a friend could break one.

"Arthur is a good man. I think we can trust him with Merlin," Owyn continued before his expression turned a bit thoughtful. "We'll still probably have to make some kind of deal with him, but I don't think it'll be too difficult. Arthur's a man of his word. If he agrees to help, he'll see it through to the end."

"…Alright," Rordan relented, unable to find any fault in those words. If they really could trust Arthur, then that would make things a great deal easier. Sure, the plan would have worked without him originally, and it still could if necessary, but after Merlin had been injured, things had become a great deal more difficult. Getting him to the gate would be simple enough, but there was no way he'd be able to make it back to Camelot on his own, not in the condition he was in, and especially since they had no way of removing the brace from his arm. Without his magic he would be defenseless, which was where Arthur came in. The prince was an incredible fighter, the best warrior in all of Camelot. He would be able to protect Merlin, surely…so long as they could get him to accept the fact that the young sorcerer wasn't evil—he was quite possibly the furthest thing _from_ evil, actually.

Sure, it would be easy enough to not mention the magic, but Arthur would surely be curious, and in order for him to find someone out there to remove the band on Merlin's arm, he would need to know why it was there in the first place. It wouldn't be fair to send him out without giving him all the pieces (and if Arthur were to find out on his own, without either himself or Owyn there to act as a buffer, he likely wouldn't take it as well). The prince would have to be told. There really wasn't an easy way around that.

Thankfully they still had some time to figure things out.

"I still need a few more days to get everything together," he said. "Once I'm ready, I'll let you know. Until then, just be careful. Barragh can't find out about this."

"Of course."

Owyn turned to leave, needing to get back to his station, but Rordan still had something he needed to say, something that he couldn't keep putting off, because there was a good chance that when the time came, he wouldn't be able to.

"Owyn," he called just as the man reached the door, turning to look back across the room. Rordan swallowed thickly before speaking in a much more subdued tone, somber and hesitant. "If this…goes badly…I'm sorry."

To his surprise, the guard just smiled.

"Don't be. This was _my_ choice, after all."

He turned back towards the door, ready to head out, but as he was about to open it and step into the corridor, he hesitated. Rordan watched as Owyn lowered his head, his shoulders rising under the strain of taking in a deep breath. Even though he could no longer see the younger man's face, he was almost certain it was devoid of its previous grin.

"Just…" he began, his hand clenching around the door handle. "If something does happen, promise me you won't give up."

Owyn raised his head and turned to look at him, and even in a room inhabited mostly by shadows, he could still see those bright eyes, full of resolve with just a glint of fear, though not for himself.

"We can't just leave him here."

It was a lot to ask, and they both knew it, because there was so much at stake—not just their own lives, but the lives of the people they cared about. However, at the same time, they couldn't just do nothing, couldn't sit back and watch things unfold. They couldn't allow Barragh to win, and no matter what, they couldn't let him break Merlin. He was far too kind, too selfless, and the thought of Barragh using him, of abusing the incredible power that the young warlock could wield was enough to make them feel sick. They couldn't let it come to that. They would _never_ let it come to that.

"…I promise."

Apparently satisfied with the answer, Owyn opened the door much more quietly than before and then closed it just as softly behind him, leaving Rordan to continue his search for supplies. He would have to gather a few more things now that he knew for sure that Arthur would be accompanying Merlin back to Camelot. He wouldn't be able to take too much more without it being noticed, but he could still scrape together enough for the trip.

As he continued collecting items and shoving them into the bag he had brought with, he allowed himself to entertain the idea that everything would go as planned, that nothing would happen to any of them, that Barragh _wouldn't_ find out until it was too late to stop them. He found himself smiling at the thought. In just a few days, Merlin would finally be free. Everything was finally falling into place; his plan was about to be set in motion. As soon as he had it all put together, he'd talk to Merlin. They _would_ get him out of here.

He only hoped that the warlock had the patience enough to wait.

* * *

It had taken almost five days for Merlin to finally find the strength to sit up on his own without being in terrible pain. Two more after that, and the throbbing in his back had eventually been reduced to a dull burn, still very present but a great deal more tolerable. He was even able to walk around a bit, though it was obvious it would be a while before he had the strength to do more than pace the length of his cell a few times. Spending so much time lying down had made his legs stiff and weak, leaving him tired and aching if he tried to do too much too fast. Rordan had warned him to be careful, that his body needed time to finish recovering, and even though he really didn't want to wait, it certainly wouldn't do him any good to try and escape when he probably wouldn't even make it down the hallway let alone to another floor.

He was just going to have to be patient for now.

As he took a seat on his cot, allowing himself to rest for a moment from his pacing, he tried to come up with some kind of plan. It was inevitable that he would escape again—he had no intention of just sitting back and waiting for Barragh to torture him—and he really wanted to make sure that he wasn't caught this time. Seeing as how he couldn't rely on his magic too much, he needed to think of some other way to get through the castle. Unfortunately, he had already tried pretty much everything he could think of. He had already tried to escape during all manners of the day, even in the middle of the night, but nothing had worked. He was always either caught by someone who wouldn't (or sometimes couldn't) just pretend that he wasn't there, or the pain from using magic would catch up with him and he'd end up passing out.

He needed a plan, although what he really needed was to find a way to get that stupid brace off his arm. If he had full access to his magic, there was no way anyone would be able to stop him. Sure, Barragh had plenty of weapons that could be used against magic, but he had never gone up against someone like him before, of that Merlin was certain. There would be no stopping him, if only it wasn't for that band of metal. It was amazing how something so small and seemingly harmless on its own could cause so much damage.

The warlock heaved a sigh and leant back against the wall, wishing he had something to do. Perhaps the worst part about being locked up was the boredom. He hadn't had any visitors since the day before when Rordan had come to change his bandages for hopefully what would be the last time. After all, he was healing rather well, all things considered. There was no longer any need to worry about possible infection, and the wounds themselves were closed. They were still rather raw, but they wouldn't reopen, which was at least one less thing for him to worry about. It brought him a few steps closer to being able to attempt another escape.

Unfortunately, he had a new problem to worry about. Apparently Barragh had finally seen fit (after _seven_ times) to put guards outside his door. Why the lord hadn't done so earlier was beyond him, but he rather wished the man hadn't bothered. It's not like it would stop him. All he had to do was wait for the people guarding his door to either wander off (something that he wouldn't put past most of them seeing as how they rather hated their master), fall asleep (it could happen), or trade shifts (because sooner or later, he would end up with someone who was actually loyal to Barragh, and therefore he would have no qualms whatsoever in throwing them against the nearest wall).

One way or another, he would _still_ find a way out of his cell. The stationed guards were just a minor setback, although at the very least they would be an occasional cure to his boredom. He was on speaking terms with quite a few of them, so at least he could have some decent conversations while he slowly got his strength back. It was better than sitting alone in the silence with only his thoughts for company, that's for sure.

At the moment, the two guards were talking amongst themselves, discussing some things and complaining about others. They would gossip every once in a while too, and even though he wasn't really paying much attention to their actual conversation, the hum of their words in the background was comforting. He really wasn't a fan of silence. He was able to catch a few bits of what they were saying, something about a rider being sent out a few hours ago (probably to send a message to their king, Barragh's number one buyer), but he wasn't entirely sure what they were talking about, so he let his mind wander to other things.

Much like he usually did, the warlock ended up thinking about Camelot and the people waiting for him there. He couldn't help but wonder what everyone's faces would look like when he eventually came walking through the gates. He was certain that Gaius would embrace him and then yell at him and then probably hug him again. Gwen would likely make a big deal out of his return as well, asking him if he was alright, where he had been, what had happened (though not necessarily in that order), and knowing her, she'd probably hug him too. Some of the knights would probably smile and welcome him home with a pat on the back or a friendly punch to the arm, and some of the servants would likely do the same (but without the punching, of course).

He found that it was the most fun to imagine Arthur's reaction though, because there were just so many possibilities. He got the feeling that he would definitely be yelled at though, perhaps insulted as well once Merlin explained what had happened (omitting the magic, of course). He was also pretty sure that the prince would give him his job back (if he didn't still have it), accompanied by a long list of chores to do, and even though he probably wouldn't say the words, wouldn't admit to being worried or sad or scared, he would smile, clap him on the shoulder, and say "welcome back," and somehow, it would be enough. He didn't need declarations or heartfelt words or even a hug (even though he secretly wanted one). Just being allowed to return to his everyday life, as Arthur's servant, protector, and friend, was more than enough.

The warlock heaved a sigh and pulled himself away from his thoughts, not wanting to get too lost in them, and allowed the voices from outside to filter into his room again. He listened back in for a moment to the guards chatting, but still the conversation didn't really interest him, and he was starting to wonder if it ever would.

…That is until a familiar name caught his attention.

"So, do you think Uther has even noticed yet?"

Merlin quickly sat up straight, focusing his attention on the door, and when he found that he couldn't fully hear the conversation from his perch on the cot, he got up and walked over to the door. He stood just to the side of it, giving the two men and their discussion his full attention, because as much as the guards loved to gossip and talk about news from the surrounding kingdoms, he had rarely heard even a word about Camelot (he got the feeling that part of the reason was because they all knew he was _from_ Camelot, and most of them hadn't wanted to touch upon a potentially sore topic). Therefore, even if what they were talking about proved to be of no use to him at all, he would still take what he could get. He wanted to know what was happening back home, even if it was nothing more than idle gossip or the most mundane of occurrences. He just needed _something._

"You would think so, wouldn't you, but I haven't really heard anything yet. Usually by now someone would have mentioned if search parties had been sent out."

_Search parties? For what?_

"Do you think he'd be crazy enough to send them over the border?"

"Probably. He seems like the type. If he's noticed, that is."

Merlin was starting to get frustrated as they more or less talked in circles, neither one outright saying _why_ Uther would send a search party or _what_ for. Obviously something must have happened. Had someone tried to attack Camelot and now the king was attempting to hunt them down? Somehow he didn't think that was quite it, and what exactly did they mean by "if he's noticed?"

The warlock was tempted to ask, to force his way into the conversation, but he wasn't sure if they would keep talking about it if he did. It all depended on who was on the other side of the door, and he unfortunately didn't know all of the guards by their voices. He couldn't risk them clamming up, so he gathered what little patience he still had and kept listening, praying that they would finally just get to the point.

In the end, he got his wish, but the answer wasn't at all what he had wanted.

"Well, I'm sure _someone_ has noticed by now. I mean, he _is_ the crown prince, after all."

_What…?_

"Surely his absence would be noticed. I can't imagine there wouldn't be someone out looking for him."

_Arthur…_

His breath caught, his whole body tensing as he tried to process what he had just heard. He wanted to find some other meaning, something other than the obvious, but all he kept coming back to was one simple question that he unfortunately already knew the answer to, even though he couldn't seem to quite wrap his head around it.

_Arthur's not in Camelot?_

The prince was gone, had left for some reason, and he had been gone long enough to be noticed, to require being searched for. What had happened? Where had he gone? When? Why? If Arthur wasn't in Camelot, then where was he?

"I'm sure Uther knows. His son _is_ missing, after all."

_Missing…_

_Arthur was missing._

Gone, disappeared, nowhere to be found…

Kidnapped, captured, hurt, _lost_…

There were so many possibilities, so many things that could have gone wrong, and Merlin couldn't stop every possible scenario, every nightmare from pouring in and tearing at his mind, because he was supposed to _be_ there, to protect him, but he _hadn't_ been, and something had _happened_!

Arthur was missing. _He was in danger._

Merlin had to do something. He had to find him!

The warlock could feel his magic roiling, building up even as the brace against his arm forced it down, but he didn't care. It was his destiny, his purpose, to protect Arthur. That's what his magic was _for_, and it was reacting to that need, the desire to save the prince from whatever was happening to him, to find him and bring him home no matter what the cost. He could feel that inborn power flowing through his veins, reacting to his will.

He had to find Arthur, but first things first. He was getting out of here.

* * *

It had been seven days now. Seven days of sitting in a cell, waiting for something to happen that he was starting to doubt ever would. It was the beginning of his eighth day of imprisonment, after all, and yet Barragh had yet to visit him once. No gloating, no insulting, no snide comments or jabs at his station or his general situation. If he didn't know any better, he would have believed that the man had simply forgotten about him, but he already knew that he probably wasn't that lucky. Apparently the man had been serious during that first and only time they had talked when he had claimed that he was in the middle of a project that was far more important than dealing with the prince.

That was a bit insulting, really, but more than his hurt pride, he found himself feeling rather curious about what Barragh was actually doing. He knew a lot more now than he had about the man and what he did for a living. Was he working on some new magical weapon, or was he building something to use _against_ magic, or had he caught himself a sorcerer and was attempting to coerce them into becoming a weapon…or breaking them until they no longer had the will to decide.

It was a bit strange, the thought of feeling sorry for a sorcerer, but the feeling was there nonetheless. He had Owyn to blame for that, putting all those ideas in his head and making him look at magic in a way that was far different from what he had been taught. A part of him had wanted to ignore all of it, to just pretend that none of it was true, but he knew he couldn't, because as soon as the possibility had been presented to him, he had felt the need and the obligation to at least consider it. After all, if past experience was anything to go by, he never had been completely sold by his father's beliefs on magic (and many other things, actually, but that was beside the point…sort of).

It made sense in a way, Owyn's logic. Of course the only magic he had ever really had experience with was dark and destructive, because the ones who would use their gifts for good wouldn't attack Camelot, and they also wouldn't openly use magic to try and help it either, considering the consequences. Surely there were people with magic who were just trying to live ordinary lives, who didn't want to cause any trouble, who were willing to hide to protect themselves and the ones they loved. It made sense.

However, that didn't mean he wasn't still wary of magic. He didn't know enough about it or about the people who practiced it to be able to trust magic just yet, but at the very least he wouldn't senselessly condemn people just for having it. You couldn't choose how you were born, after all.

The prince heaved a sigh and leant back against the wall, his head bumping it lightly. There was just so much he still needed to know, so many questions he wanted to ask, and he had every intention of bothering Owyn with every single one the next time the guard came to visit him. Clearly he had some experience dealing with magic, and therefore he'd be the perfect person to ask (he was also the _only_ person he could ask, but despite his odd personality, he _did_ seem knowledgeable, so that was just fine with him).

With those thoughts in mind, he was more than ready to launch into another conversation about magic when the door to his cell finally opened again and Owyn walked in with his breakfast, but the words died on his lips when he saw the look on the man's face. It was apprehensive, hesitant, and just a little sympathetic, as if he came bearing information that he knew Arthur wasn't going to like but that needed to be said anyway.

A question far different from the one he had been about to ask left his mouth even though he was pretty sure he didn't want to know the answer.

"What's wrong?"

Owyn set the breakfast tray down and then took his regular seat against the wall before answering.

"Barragh sent word to your father. A rider left for Camelot just a few hours ago."

"…Oh."

In most people, news like that would probably invoke relief of some sort, but all Arthur could feel was dread. He swallowed hard and averted his eyes, biting down on a curse as he realized that not only would his father be finding out about his less than dignified capture and containment, but as soon as the ransom was paid (or an attack was launched. Both were plausible), he would be taken back to Camelot whether he wanted to be or not. His search would end.

He wouldn't be able to find Merlin.

"Look," Owyn began with a sigh, cutting right into the prince's darkening thoughts, "I know I sort of teased you before about being embarrassed over getting kidnapped and all, but really, _why _don't you want him to know? You want to go home, don't you?"

The prince just lowered his head further and kept his eyes fixed firmly on the floor. He didn't really want to explain himself—he wasn't entirely sure if he even _could_—but he also knew that Owyn wasn't likely to let this go, and the man had proven more than once that he was rather adept at reading people. Arthur was no exception.

"…Don't you?" There was curiosity there and a hint of sympathy, but it was the soft and genuine concern he could hear in those two words that made him answer even though he had to practically force the words past his lips.

"If I go back to Camelot, my father won't let me leave again, not unescorted, and not unless it's necessary." He raised his head and met Owyn's stare, hoping he'd be able to understand what he was and wasn't saying. "I can't go back yet. Not like that."

"But why… Oh." Comprehension dawned on his face, and the guard proved once more that he was much more observant and far wiser than he seemed. "The person you were looking for."

"I have to find him. If I go back now, I never will."

"You can't send someone else?"

"My father would never allow it, and I fear there's no one able enough that I would trust to go behind his back like that."

"Not even your knights?"

"I trust my men with my life and the safety of the kingdom, but I can't trust them with this. I've told you before—I can't order my knights to lie to their king. I know some of them probably would if I asked, but I won't do that to them, not for this." It was too much to ask for something so personal, even though he knew that a few of the knights were rather fond of Merlin and would possibly be willing to take the risk. He _also_ knew that his servant would be more inclined to call them all idiots than show them gratitude for going behind the king's back (though he'd eventually do both, because he was _Merlin_ after all). "He'd probably get mad at me if I tried."

Arthur couldn't help but smile at the thought.

"…Just _who_ are you looking for?"

That question actually surprised the prince, not so much because of its content but because of the way it was asked. Owyn didn't only sound confused and curious but incredulous, as if he couldn't quite understand the reasoning behind what Arthur had told him. For a man who always seemed to have an answer, he seemed a bit gobsmacked by this.

"I mean—look, I know it's none of my business, but you make it sound like your father actually _forbid_ you from searching."

"That's because he did."

"But why? I just don't get it. I _know_ you're the crown prince and all, and that it can be dangerous to go off like that, but that's not a good enough reason on its own." He ran a hand through his hair, a clear sign of frustration, and continued to voice his musings out loud which, sometimes, was the best way to work through them. "I've actually been trying to figure this out since you first mentioned it, but I just can't seem to find the answer. Your father obviously doesn't care about whoever you're looking for, so it's not a knight or a noble, no one from the court or a dignitary from a neighboring kingdom, no one who could be deemed _important _by political standards…"

He sighed deeply, and Arthur watched in slight fascination as the man forced himself to calm down. This was clearly bothering him a lot more than the prince felt was necessary, but apparently Owyn was the type of person who liked to have all the details, who couldn't fully process something without all the pieces laid out before him. He was trying though.

"Sorry, I just…I guess I'm just having a hard time thinking of someone who would be important enough for a prince but worth nothing to a king."

He knew it was true. He was beyond the need to deny it—there was no point, because he had already admitted that Merlin _was_ important to him. He also knew that his father truly did see Merlin like that, as someone not worth noticing, not worth actually caring about, not worth the effort to save, but to hear it out loud like that was enough to spike his anger a bit. He would answer Owyn's question if only so he could make him understand what his father never would.

"I'm looking for my servant."

Silence. That's what greeted him after his response. He wasn't entirely sure what he had been hoping for, but he probably should have been expecting it. Owyn was looking at him blankly but still with that glint of incredulity.

"…Your servant."

It wasn't a question. It really didn't need to be. The guard _knew_ the answer; he just seemed to be having a hard time believing it—and yes, maybe to most people it sounded ridiculous, the thought of a prince trying to save his servant, but he really no longer cared what anyone had to say about it, and if anyone had a problem with that, well…too bad.

That was just the way he and Merlin _worked_.

From his position against the wall, Owyn couldn't help but study the young man before him, feeling just a bit caught off guard for once. Usually he was pretty good at figuring people out, but every once in a while he was thrown through a loop, and it had surprisingly happened quite a few times in the last week when talking to Arthur. He supposed that part of the reason had a lot to do with his own dealings with royalty and nobles, his preconceptions on how they acted and how they saw things, but the prince of Camelot was really proving to be far different than he had ever thought possible, shattering just about every assumption he had made about him.

He couldn't help but smile before falling back into a familiar routine with his newest friend.

"Well then, he must be very good at his job."

The prince scoffed at that, but there was an amused half-smile on his face.

"Hardly. He's quite possibly the most incompetent, rude, and clumsy servant that Camelot has ever known. I don't think I've ever met someone as inept and insolent as he is."

The words themselves were insults, but the way he said them was nothing short of fond, and it didn't take long for Owyn to understand. Earlier in the week when he had first asked the prince about the person he was looking for, Arthur had admitted that they were important—not to most, but to him, and now he finally knew why. Even without the words, he could understand, but Arthur chose to say them anyway.

"…But he's a good friend—the best, actually, and so I can't just leave him. I know he'd do the same for me."

Grinning from ear to ear now, the guard casually reclined against the wall, stretching his legs out and making himself comfortable, because he knew for a fact that no one would be bothering them for a long while yet (if at all). They had plenty of time to talk, and he had finally found a subject that wouldn't involve a great deal of discomfort for the prince. Besides, he couldn't help but be curious.

A prince and a servant… It was an unlikely friendship, and that made it all the more interesting.

"Go on then," he said. "Tell me about him. I promise that whatever you have to say will be safe with me. I won't tell a soul."

"Good, because God forbid anyone ever find out I said any of that. I'd probably never live it down."

He could practically see the mask falling away, the walls breaking as Arthur finally relaxed, grinning with his whole face as he fully—_finally_—dropped his guard.

"…And being the cheeky idiot that he is, I doubt _Mer_lin would ever let me forget it."

The prince launched into a story (or a list of complaints, really) about the servant who had managed to befriend a prince, unaware as he began picking at his breakfast that Owyn wasn't listening. The words faded into a soft drone in the background as his breath caught and his eyes widened, his heart stopping for a moment before it began to race much like his thoughts, but as frantic as they were, they all led back to the same place, a single name.

_Merlin._

It was a coincidence.

Just a coincidence, right? It couldn't be anything else. There was just no way, because the odds of such a thing happening were close to nonexistent. Perhaps he had just heard wrong. Maybe Arthur had said a different name entirely…

Except that he hadn't. He had very clearly said "Merlin," and that name was anything but common.

_It has to be a coincidence. It has to be, because there's just no way…_

He had to know. He had to be certain, because this wasn't something he could just write off or ignore or pretend he hadn't heard. This was something that could potentially make or break _everything_ he and Rordan had been counting on.

"Arthur," he called, cutting him off in the middle of whatever tale he had been weaving, and he knew that he must look a sight given the sudden concern he could see in the prince's face.

"What is it?"

_It's impossible. There's just no way… He couldn't possibly…_

He _had_ to know. He opened his mouth to ask…

…And the warning bells went off.

* * *

**A/N:** I said I was going to be mean. I knew exactly how I wanted the chapter to end long before I started writing it :) There were so many ways I could have had that little reveal happen, but this was the one I chose. Fear not. Arthur will be finding things out shortly :)

Anyway, thank you so much for reading, and thanks for all the reviews too. I once again didn't get around to responding (my free time did not pan out the way I intended it too, but it was worth it getting to spend a whole day with my family for a change. I haven't been out to see a movie in a long time), and I'm not sure if I'll be able to this week either since my only day off this time is Thursday, and then it'll be a week before I have another...sigh. I need a new job...or a million dollars. Both would be even better :)

So yeah, please feel free to tell me what you think. I would love to hear from you all, and if you find any mistakes, please let me know, and I shall fix them :)

Until next week!


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N:** So...when I got home from work and choir on Wednesday night and checked my email, I'm pretty sure I just stared at the screen for a few minutes before running to my sister's room and spazzing. Honestly, I'm not sure what to say other than thank you. I _never_ expected something like that. I don't think I've ever gotten so many reviews for a chapter before. Obviously I don't expect it to happen all the time or even a lot, but I still just want to say thank you. And thanks to everyone taking the time to read this fic. Knowing there are so many people who are enjoying it makes the sleep deprevation totally worth it :)

**Title: **Of Twisted Morals and Human Weaponry  
**Author: **BeyondTheStorm  
**Rating: **T for...well, a lot of things. Some language, some violence, the whole general situation, a bit of torture, etc.  
**Characters/pairings:** The cast is as follows: Merlin, Arthur, an antagonist, two guards with names, and a few without. Merlin and Arthur are the main focus of this story. Oh, and no pairings. Only friendship here, though if you want to read more into it, feel free. Whatever floats your boat :)  
**Spoilers: **Um...none, as far as I know.  
**Warnings: **Abuse, a bit of torture, me being descriptive  
**What to expect:** Bromance, introspection, angst, some whump, H/C, lots of drama, lots of worrying...oh, and some magic. Can't forget the magic :)

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Merlin :)

So, I wasn't able to get through all the replies this week (between work, family, and church, I haven't had much time to myself). I only managed a hand full or so, but hopefully I'll be able to get through the ones for this chapter. I have the weekend off (thank goodness), so I might be able to if nothing goes wrong.

Well, here we go. If you see anything that's wrong, please feel free to point it out, and I shall fix it :)

Onward!

* * *

CHAPTER 10

For a moment he was completely paralyzed, his heart too unsteady and his head too full, but the moment those familiar bells began to toll, all the words he had been about to say became lodged in his throat, and before he even realized it, he was already moving.

"What…?"

Everything was suddenly wiped away to be replaced by a dawning sense of dread as the bells rang loud and clear, their sound echoing throughout the corridor. It certainly wasn't an uncommon thing to hear, not anymore, but no matter how many times they sounded, he would never grow used to it. Now more than ever, it invoked a great deal of fear.

Funny how something meant to alert them, to keep them safe, felt more like a death knell than a warning. Perhaps in this case it was both.

After shooting to his feet, Owyn made no further moves, too deep in shock and too full of worry to even try. He was well aware that Arthur had stopped talking by now and was probably staring at him. It would be understandable given his sudden movements and the fact that he wasn't doing anything other than looking out into the hallway as if the answer as to what was happening would just suddenly appear before him. He knew it wouldn't, but that didn't stop him from hoping, because just this once, he wanted to be wrong.

It was truly unfortunate just how unlikely that was.

"No," he said breathlessly, shaking his head to try and rid himself of the thought. It didn't work. "No, it can't—he wouldn't…"

It couldn't be. It just _couldn't_. It didn't make any sense—it _couldn't be Merlin._ The warlock had only just started moving around again. There was no way he would do something like that so soon after being flogged. He could barely walk around his cell let alone the castle, and to use his magic when he was in such a state would be dangerous, not to mention completely idiotic. Why escape when there would be no chance of _actually_ escaping? He wouldn't be able to get away like that, and the next time around, it would take even longer for him to heal. After all, Barragh had threatened to add five lashings for every attempt. He would receive ten if he were caught again. Surely Merlin knew better than to take that kind of risk.

However, he couldn't deny that deep-seated doubt, that voice in the back of his head telling him that this _was_ something that Merlin would do, because he wasn't the type of person to think things through. He was smart—there was no denying that—but he was also hasty and reckless with too much compassion and not enough self-preservation. There was something the boy needed to do, something that drove him to try time and time again to escape, no matter the cost to himself, and as much as Owyn wished it weren't the case, he was fairly certain it was.

Merlin was a selfless idiot, and unfortunately this was exactly the kind of thing he would do.

It didn't take long before he was able to hear the sound of footsteps coming down the hall, fast and frantic. He quickly went over to the bars, trying to see who it was, although he had a fairly good idea. After all, whenever he was visiting with the prince, a second guard wasn't too far off. In no time at all, the man who had accompanied him this time around came running up to the cell, stopping in front of the door and shakily grabbing at his keys. He was panting hard, as if he had just run a great distance, which meant that he had probably gone off the moment the bells had started ringing to find out what was happening.

From the look on his face, it was obvious that Owyn's earlier sense of dread was well-founded.

"What is it?" he asked, his hands gripping the bars of the door. "What's happening?"

The other guard was still trying to catch his breath and get a hold of the right key to let Owyn out, so he didn't respond right away. Owyn was about to ask again before another set of footsteps drew his attention. He tensed for a moment, praying that it wasn't Barragh or any of the guards who were actually loyal to him, but it turned out that he needn't have worried, because the man who came into view was a welcome one. He appeared to be equally as exhausted as the first guard, but his expression was far more grave than frantic, his worry more prominent than his fear.

"Rordan?"

If he had had any lingering doubts as to what was going on, they were gone now.

It took a moment for Rordan to catch his breath, and in that time the door to the cell was finally unlocked. Owyn was about to ask him the same question he had asked the other guard, but his friend was quick to cut him off, uttering the two words that would unknowingly change everything.

"It's Merlin."

Behind him, the sound of a cup hitting the floor reached his ears, and for a brief moment it even seemed to drown out the warning bells. Owyn didn't even need to turn around to know what had happened; he knew the prince well enough that it wasn't necessary. Nevertheless, his whole body tensed at the sound, because he knew what was about to happen, could practically see the look that was undoubtedly on Arthur's face as he sucked in a sharp breath and uttered an uncharacteristically shaky, "What?"

However, there wasn't time for that. They had to find Merlin. He would deal with the prince later.

"Come on," called Rordan, already making his way down the hall and away from the cell while the other guard lingered behind to lock it as soon as Owyn was out. Usually the scraping of the metal against the stone floor was enough to pull Arthur away from his thoughts, but not this time. He just continued to stare in the general direction of the guards, his mind racing, half desperate and half disbelieving. Part of him was certain of what he had just heard while the other part was trying to convince him that he was wrong, that he had misunderstood, that he had been so focused on the topic that was Merlin that he hadn't been paying attention. That had to be it.

Unfortunately, the less rational side of him, the one that had set off on a fake hunt, risking his father's wrath and his own life in order to find a missing servant, wouldn't let him write it off as a misunderstanding or a coincidence. He couldn't just pretend he hadn't heard the name of his friend when he had spent more than a month now without that friendly, irritating, loyal, constant presence at his side. He had to know.

Owyn was just standing there, frozen between the cell and the corridor, and even though he wasn't the one who had said Merlin's name, he had obviously understood the meaning behind it. Arthur opened his mouth to ask, hesitant and wary, because he didn't want to get his hopes up, didn't want to believe only to find out he was wrong.

Before the question could fully fall from his lips, Owyn was moving.

"What did you just—"

As soon as the guard jerked forward as if he couldn't get out of the cell fast enough, Arthur was on his feet.

"Wait, Owyn!"

He ran for the door only to have it quickly slammed shut and locked just as he reached the bars. He grabbed two of them tightly and pressed his face between them, trying to see down the hall. The other guard was already running, disappearing around the corner, but Owyn was still visible. There was still time. He had to get him to come back, had to make him answer, because he _needed_ to know!

"Owyn!"

The man stopped for just a moment, glancing over his shoulder at the desperate prince. Arthur was about to yell at him again, to just shout his question and get it over with, but the look on the guard's face made him nearly choke on the words. Over the past week, he had gotten to know the somewhat strange man rather well, had seen all sorts of expressions and emotions flash across his face and linger in his eyes, but the look he was being sent wasn't something he had ever seen there before.

Determination, sorrow, pity, anxiety… It was the look of a man who wanted nothing more than to run but who had long ago made the decision not to. In that single moment, he looked decades older than he was, uncertain and weary. It was such an unfamiliar expression to see on that usually jovial face. If he didn't know any better, he would have called it defeat.

The guard stood there a moment longer before turning away.

"I'm sorry," he said as he began moving again, breaking into a sprint.

"Wait, Owyn!" Arthur called desperately, forgetting for a moment that he was the prince of Camelot, that princes were meant to make demands and give orders, not beg and plead for answers. However, in that moment he _wasn't_ a prince, wasn't a noble. He was just _Arthur_, just a friend who had spent too many days searching and too many nights worrying, afraid and unwilling to return to a life where his only real friend was no longer a part of it. "Come back! Owyn! _Please_, just come back! _Owyn_!"

The unrelenting toll of the warning bell was his only reply.

* * *

"Here!"

Hearing Rordan's call up ahead, Owyn picked up his pace and eventually made it down the corridor, finally turning into the one where Merlin's cell had been. What he saw had him coming to an abrupt stop, too surprised at what lay before him to even say anything. Whatever he had been expecting, it certainly hadn't been this.

Most of Merlin's attempted escapes were quiet, usually involving the simple and quick unlocking of his cell door. His previous one had been a bit more dramatic due to his frustration with the lock sticking and had resulted in the door being blown off its hinges. This time around it wasn't just the door that had felt the raw power of Merlin's instinctual magic. Much of the wall had as well.

Lying in the middle of the corridor was a mess of metal and stone, blown apart and twisted by an impossible force. It shouldn't have been possible, and for anyone else it probably wouldn't have been, but all of them were aware of the fact that Merlin was anything but a run-of-the-mill sorcerer. Even with the brace on his arm suppressing his magic, he was still capable of drawing it out and bending it to his will. However, all of them had assumed that he couldn't do much with it, that he was limited to simple spells such as unlocking doors and lighting torches. Blowing his cell door off the hinges had been an accident due to frustration, but this…this was on a whole other level. There was no way mere frustration was responsible for this.

"What…?" he pondered aloud, his question dying away as he stepped around the ruble, still too much in awe of what he was seeing to be able to finish asking it. Bits of stone from the gaping hole in the wall were still crumbling to the floor, scattering dust along the way.

"The two guards who were here told me that it happened suddenly, without warning," said Rordan as he ran a nervous hand through his hair. "It just exploded, and before either of them could do anything, they were both thrown against the wall. It wasn't enough to actually hurt them, but they were dazed long enough for Merlin to get away."

"But that's…" He wanted to say "impossible," but there was more than enough proof that it wasn't. "I just don't understand. _Why_ would he—I mean, he only _just_ started moving around again!" Worry and exasperation were beginning to build up rapidly, and he found himself wishing that he could just punch the wall in order to vent it, but he got the feeling that it wouldn't make him feel any better.

How could something like this happen? Why now? They had been so close. Why would Merlin _do_ something like this? Why condemn himself? What was he _thinking_?

"I don't know," said Rordan, sighing heavily but otherwise keeping a tight lid on his anxiety. Owyn wished that he had even half the control his friend did, because even though he knew that Rordan had to be panicking by now, not to mention beating himself up over the situation, he didn't let it show. In no way was he calm, but his frustration was far more subtle.

The older guard took another sweeping look at the damage before arriving at the same conclusion as Owyn.

"Something must have happened," he said, his voice taking on a hint of self-deprivation as a bit more of his exasperation slipped through. "Damn it, I should have told him. I was going to, but I didn't think he would—I only needed a few more _days_…"

Not knowing quite what to say for once, Owyn walked up and placed his hand on his friend's shoulder, trying to tell him what words alone couldn't convey. This wasn't anyone's fault. No one had expected something like this to happen, not so soon after the last. Merlin was still weak, still healing, and they had thought he'd be wise enough to wait until he was stronger before trying again, and by that point they would have already put their plan into motion. The warlock would have been on his way home with the prince of Camelot, someone who could protect him until his magic was fully restored.

That had been the plan, but…

He swallowed hard, trying to force away the thought as his stomach twisted and his heart clenched painfully in his chest.

_Arthur and Merlin_. They _knew_ each other. He hadn't been able to confirm it, but he was certain that they did. Merlin, the warlock who had pledged his loyalty and his magic to someone important to him, and Arthur, the prince who had risked everything in order to find his servant and best friend. Somehow it just made sense, no matter how unlikely it seemed. To think that Arthur was being held for ransom by the same man who had imprisoned his servant… What were the odds?

He couldn't help but wonder what would have happened if everything had gone according to plan, if Merlin hadn't escaped on his own and Barragh hadn't sent word to Uther, if Arthur and Merlin had just met up again while he and Rordan got them out of the castle. How would they have reacted? What would they have done? Knowing the two of them the way he did, he was pretty sure there would have been a bit of gaping, followed by relief and a whole lot of unfinished and unanswered questions, and ending with a good deal of yelling (teasing and insulting with a good mix of worry and aggravation, but nothing angry, nothing meant to hurt).

It was a nice thought, but there wasn't time to keep thinking about it, to keep playing around with all the possibilities if things had happened differently. They needed to get going, and so he opened his mouth to say something. Whether he intended to urge Rordan into action or tell him what he had learned about their two most noteworthy prisoners, he didn't know, but he found himself unable to speak for probably the fifth time in the last hour (definitely a new record). He wasn't sure why he had suddenly thought of it, but it was enough to make his blood run cold.

Owyn frantically tried to recall every conversation he had had with Arthur, every time he had ever mentioned Merlin without _actually_ mentioning him, trying to figure out if he had ever once said anything about the "other prisoner" having magic. He prayed that he hadn't slipped up, that he hadn't implied that it was a possibility, that he hadn't said _anything_, because Arthur _didn't_ know. He had no earthly idea what his servant was truly capable of. He couldn't, because magic was illegal in Camelot, and when the two of them had talked about it, Arthur hadn't been putting on an act. He hadn't been pretending to be the dutiful prince while secretly harboring a magic user in the heart of Camelot.

Arthur _didn't_ know. Merlin hadn't told him.

The prince had said that he wouldn't harm a sorcerer who used their magic for good, that he didn't fully agree with his father's stance on sorcery, and they had been counting on that, but this was something altogether different. This was about secrets and lies, the kinds of things that could break a friendship. How could they possibly find a way out of this without completely shattering everything those two had built together?

How could they ever hope to fix this?

A hand falling on his shoulder pulled him from his thoughts, and he quickly schooled his features into something less frantic, pushing away the cold terror he had been feeling. He raised his head and met a pair of resigned but determined eyes and a grave expression.

"Come on," said Rordan as he began to walk away. "We have to find him."

Owyn nodded numbly, still trying to sort out his thoughts, but in that moment he made a decision. He would tell no one what he had learned. He wouldn't breathe a word of it, not even to Rordan. He couldn't take the risk, because the situation just kept slipping from their grasp, falling further and further away. No matter what, he wanted to protect the two young men and their unlikely but incredible friendship.

_No_ one could know about them, _no one_, because if _Barragh_ were to ever find out, he was certain that everything—their secrets, their bond, all they had strived for and all they had yet to achieve—would be lost.

* * *

Merlin had no idea where he was going (which, honestly, wasn't anything new), but he knew that no matter what, he couldn't stop. He had to keep moving forward even though all he wanted to do was collapse into a soft bed and sleep for a month, or maybe even a year. He wasn't all that particular about the details. It was rather hard to be when his whole body felt like it was on fire and his legs kept threatening to send him crashing to the floor in an undignified heap. That was the last thing he needed on top of everything else, because he knew that if he went down, he wouldn't be getting back up again, and he couldn't let that happen, not after what he had done.

Trying to ignore the pain throughout his body and the guilt gradually building up in his chest, he pressed onward, trying to keep to the alcoves so that he could avoid the guards. If he could help it, he didn't want to run into any more. He wasn't sure if his conscience could take it. The words "I'm sorry" were an unending litany running through his head and ready to spill forth should he do something he never would have under different circumstances. He prayed that everyone he had thrown back, whether into the walls, onto the floor, or into each other, wasn't hurt too badly. He hadn't wanted to use his magic like that, but there had been no other way to get past them (they couldn't risk ignoring him lest Barragh find out). Hopefully they would understand. He needed to get out. Arthur was in trouble.

He sucked in a sharp breath as he felt his magic roil and twist, fighting to remain at the surface while being pushed down by the limiter on his arm. It _hurt_. He had known it would, but he hadn't been prepared for the sheer magnitude of it. The wounds on his back ached with every step he took, as did his legs and arms. He was nauseous and dizzy, his vision threatening to darken even though the edges were already black. He had never felt so horrible before. This was even worse than that time he had drank poison for Arthur, because this time he was aware enough to remember every painstaking moment.

Nevertheless, he kept moving, because he couldn't bring himself to stop. He had to get out of the castle and back to Camelot so that he could find out what had happened to Arthur. If the prince was truly missing, then the best place to start would be with Gaius. The physician always knew what to do, had always helped to point him in the right direction, and if something magical was at play, he'd be the one who'd know. Plus, he'd probably be the warlock's best bet at getting that brace off _without_ destroying his arm (he actually _had_ thought about it a few times during some of his more desperate, hopeless moments, but the prospect had always left him sick to his stomach and terrified, so it had always remained as nothing more than a passing thought).

When Merlin reached the end of the alcove, he peered around the corner to see if the coast was clear before stepping into the open. He had no idea where he was, and he couldn't tell if anyone was on their way to his location or not. Normally he could hear the sound of footsteps approaching whenever someone was getting too close, but between the warning bells and his own pain-addled head, he couldn't really focus enough to tell if anyone was around or not. For their sake, he hoped not.

Taking a deep breath, he tried to move towards the end of the corridor, but after only a few shaky steps, he found himself leaning heavily against the wall, his legs refusing to keep him upright any longer. His whole body was begging him to let go of his magic, to let it retreat, but he knew that if he did, he wouldn't be able to reach it again, not for a long time. He had already used too much, far more than what should have been possible for someone in his situation, but he never was one to conform to the standards. Why start now?

When he finally felt like he might be able to start walking again, he pushed away from the wall and took a tentative step forward.

"Merlin!"

The warlock froze, recognizing the voice instantly.

"Merlin, wait!"

Out of all the guards he knew, everyone he had encountered during his time spent locked away, there were two that he had been praying with all he had not to come across. There were two people who had taken the time to truly befriend him, to visit with him, to go out of their way just to make his life a little less bleak in the midst of everything that had gone wrong.

He wasn't sure if he had it in him to throw them back. Under different circumstance he wouldn't have needed to, but unfortunately they weren't the only ones to find him standing in the middle of the corridor. It only took a moment for almost twenty guards to pour out of the alcoves (apparently he wasn't as good at sneaking around as he had thought) and surround him. They formed a loose circle, giving the warlock a wide berth, and considering what he was capable of, it was understandable. He watched as they all glanced at each other, none of them wanting to be the ones to approach but none of them willing to leave either, knowing what the consequences would be if they allowed him to pass unhindered.

Merlin may have had their sympathy, their compassion, but Barragh held their fear.

They couldn't let him go, but this time he couldn't afford to be caught.

He clenched his fists and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. He knew what had to be done.

_I'm sorry._

He only hoped they would forgive him.

* * *

**A/N:** Well, that's it for now. I get the sneaking suspicion that I'm going to be called evil again, which is fine, because I probably am. I like cliffhangers, and until the last chapter, this fic had been rather lacking in that respect, but not anymore :)

Anyway, I want to say something real quick. For all who don't know/haven't noticed yet, I update once a week, every Tuesday night/Wednesday morning. That won't change. I will never miss an update if I can help it, and if something does happen, I will have a note at the top of my profile (I think this has only happened one time, when I was too sick to even climb my ladder to get into bed). The only time there won't be a note is if I'm physically unable to post one (like if I'm in the hospital or in a coma...or if my internet dies. Something like that). So fear not, for I shall always be punctual as long as I am able :)

So anyway, that's all for now. I hope you all enjoyed the chapter. The reunion should be coming soon :)

Until next week!


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N:** Ha! Haha, take that life! I'm _early_ for once (11:00pm is early for me)! Hurray! I feel rather accomplished now :)

**Title: **Of Twisted Morals and Human Weaponry  
**Author: **BeyondTheStorm  
**Rating: **T for...well, a lot of things. Some language, some violence, the whole general situation, a bit of torture, etc.  
**Characters/pairings:** The cast is as follows: Merlin, Arthur, an antagonist, two guards with names, and a few without. Merlin and Arthur are the main focus of this story. Oh, and no pairings. Only friendship here, though if you want to read more into it, feel free. Whatever floats your boat :)  
**Spoilers: **Um...none, as far as I know.  
**Warnings: **Abuse, a bit of torture, me being descriptive  
**What to expect:** Bromance, introspection, angst, some whump, H/C, lots of drama, lots of worrying...oh, and some magic. Can't forget the magic :)

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Merlin :)

Thank you everyone for all the nice reviews on the last chapter (although I did get called evil a good number of times, but I kind of brought that on myself :) I'm continuously amazed at the response I've gotten for this fic. I will continue to do my best :) Oh, and some of you may hate me for the ending of this chapter too. Just saying.

Anyway, I give you a nice long chapter with all four POVs. I hope you enjoy!

Onward!

* * *

CHAPTER 11

Magic was truly an incredible thing. It had the ability to make the impossible possible, to both protect and destroy, to entertain, create, and give shape to even the most unbelievable of thoughts. Magic was power itself, a force that flowed through the land, weaved throughout nature and into the creatures born from it. No amount of effort would ever be able to overcome it, to eradicate it from the world. Those who tried would never succeed; it was a war that could never be won.

Magic was truly incredible, but it was also dangerous, and its practitioners were never what they seemed. Unlike knights, bandits, mercenaries, and warriors, sorcerers weren't obvious. You couldn't pick them out of a crowd, couldn't look at them and determine their power. They could hide in plain sight—a wolf in sheep's clothing. Unlike a sword, magic was invisible as a weapon, and rarely could it be disarmed or blocked by anything other than magic. Sorcerers were unbelievably dangerous if given reason to be.

He had never realized the full extent of that truth until the moment he felt a powerful, unseeable force slam into his chest, throwing him to the ground.

Dazed but not incapacitated, Owyn slowly pushed himself up and then struggled to his feet as quickly as his aching head would allow. Next to him Rordan was doing much the same. When he took a look around, he saw that most of the guards were in similar states, some groaning from where they had hit the floor, others unconscious from having been thrown into the walls. There were over twenty of them, and yet they had all been taken down, even if only for a moment, by just one person, a single sorcerer who could barely stand on his own two feet, whose magic was supposed to have been suppressed.

It was incredible how desperation and determination could push someone so far beyond their physical limits.

All things considered, Merlin never should have been able to make it past the door of his cell. Even the level of power it would have taken to destroy it the way he did should have rendered him unconscious, yet for some reason it hadn't. Not only had he been able to leave his cell, but he had also been able to incapacitate the two guards outside of it long enough for him to stagger down the hallway and disappear. He had also dealt with every guard he came across in much the same way, his magic reacting to his will as if it were a mere extension of his body.

If magic truly had a shape or a form of its own, he imagined that they would be able to see it now, blanketing the young warlock like a cloak or coiling around him like a snake ready to strike should anyone come too close. It would look wild and untamable while being anything but.

This boy was truly one of a kind, an embodiment of everything that magic was and could be if given the chance. He couldn't help but wonder what it would look like unshackled and free, with nothing there to hold it back. Surely it would be a sight to behold.

However, if something wasn't done, he'd never get the chance to see it. If something wasn't done, Merlin was going to end up killing himself. Powerful or not, his body was still made of flesh and blood, still undeniably human, and the strain he was putting on it would eventually do him in. They had to stop him before it was too late. Allowing him to escape would do no good if he died in the process.

"Merlin, you need to stop," he called, but the warlock was still ignoring him, still just standing there with his back to both him and Rordan, his head down. The guard wondered if he was trying not to look at them on purpose. Perhaps if he did, his resolve would waver. There was obviously something he felt he had to do, something more important than anything, and he would sacrifice what he had to to get there, even himself—his conscience, his heart, his life.

It was so much easier to keep going forward if you never stopped to look back.

As a few more of the guards struggled to their feet, they all took a few steps forward before coming to a somewhat uncertain stop. None of them wanted to get too close after what had happened, knowing that even though Merlin had never used his magic against them like this before, he wouldn't hesitate now. He had always done all he could to avoid them during his escapes, to turn and run the other way if he came across them. He didn't like confrontations, didn't want to hurt anyone if he didn't need to…so what had happened? What had driven him to this? Why was he so desperate?

"Merlin, calm down," he said, trying to be as placating as possible as he took a step forward. "You'll overexert yourself if you keep this up." Something told him that the warlock was well beyond that point already, his sheer single-minded determination the only thing keeping him on his feet.

Merlin still didn't move, nor did he say anything as he stood there, shoulders heaving with every breath. Owyn found himself once more wondering what was going on in the boy's mind, but he was also trying to figure out a way to get out of this. Unless they allowed him to pass, Merlin wouldn't be getting out of the corridor, not with so many guards present and not in the state he was in. As much as he hated thinking about it, he knew what the best outcome would be for the situation. They were going to have to subdue him. They were going to have to lock him back up and subject him to yet more torture, and he got the feeling that Barragh would be even less forgiving this time around given the damage the warlock had done. If they put him back in a cell, there was no telling what would happen to him.

However, they couldn't let him leave. If they did, Barragh would undoubtedly punish them for helping Merlin, and when all was said and done, such a sacrifice would be in vain, because there was no way for the young sorcerer to escape. He'd never make it to the gate, and the attempt could very well end his life. They couldn't allow that to happen. Not only was he a good friend, but there was someone waiting for him, someone who had spent an entire month trying to find him while damning the consequences.

It was at that thought that inspiration struck.

_Wait, maybe…maybe I could use Arthur to calm him down._ If he were to mention the prince, then perhaps that would be enough. It was worth a try. Even though he had promised himself that he wouldn't let anyone know about the connection between the two prisoners, he couldn't think of anything else that might work. He just hoped he wasn't about to make a terrible mistake.

He looked up from where his attention had drifted to the floor and saw Merlin slowly raising one of his arms, about to use his magic again. If he was going to say something, it had to be now.

"Merlin—"

A pained whine cut him off as he watched Merlin bring his hands to his head, stopping whatever spell he had been about to unleash. He doubled over, still managing to stay on his feet, but it was obvious that he was in a great deal of pain. All that magic he had used was finally catching up with him; he was gripping his head so hard that he would probably end up drawing blood if he wasn't stopped. However, no one moved forward, all of them still too afraid to approach him in case he were to lash out again. It wouldn't happen though. It _couldn't_. Merlin had used too much, had pushed too far, and it would probably be a long time before he'd be able to do anything with his magic again. He had reached the limit of what he was capable of under so many constraints.

His power was truly extraordinary, but his body was still human.

When his knees finally buckled and he hit the floor, everyone was suddenly moving. By the time any of them could reach him, the warlock was already unconscious.

* * *

"_How_ did he _escape_?" Barragh shouted, his voice thundering through the room and making more than just a few of them flinch.

"He, um," began one brave soul amongst the twenty-something of them that stood before the enraged nobleman, "he kind of…blew a hole through the wall."

Barragh slammed his hand against the wall, making them all flinch again, but instead of yelling at them and berating them all for incompetence (or accusing them of helping), he fell into a very livid silence. The guards were all doing their best not to fidget or to look guilty or scared, but it was rather difficult given what had just happened.

From the back of the line, Rordan fought the urge to sigh and run a nervous hand through his hair. Honestly, this was the last place he wanted to be right now. He had more important things to be doing, although he knew that the one thing he really wanted to do was something he wouldn't be allowed to.

They had all been forbidden from tending to Merlin.

Not long after the warlock had lost consciousness, Barragh had rounded the corner, looking rather murderous. After taking in the scene, he had immediately ordered two of the guards to throw the boy into a temporary cell and chain him up while forcing the rest of the guards to follow him into the audience chamber of the castle. He had claimed to want a report of what had occurred, but after being told about what had taken place in the corridor—a very abridged version of it, because no one wanted to make things any worse for Merlin than they already were—Barragh had started yelling at them.

They had all seen the lord angry before, but this time there were no words to describe the level of anger and frustration written on his face. It was quite possible that the man had finally reached his breaking point.

"That bloody, _insolent_ little—!"

He punched the wall again, one of the stones cracking under the force. All of them wisely remained silent, unwilling to find out if he would direct that fury towards them if they were to say anything.

"Even with his magic suppressed, he's _still_ this powerful," he growled, addressing the room at large but not truly acknowledging any of the men standing there. That was just fine, at least for Rordan, because his mind was about two floors down and five halls away. His thoughts were where they usually were, where they had often been in the last few weeks: with _Merlin_.

He couldn't help but wonder if his friend was okay, if the warlock had woken up yet, if he realized just what he had done and what the consequences would be. With the way Barragh was seething, he wouldn't be getting away with just a few lashings this time. The caution and care that the man had taken in making sure that Merlin wasn't permanently damaged, that his life was never really put in danger was obviously coming to an end, because clearly more severe methods would need to be used if the warlock was still capable of escaping only a week after being flogged. If he was still that powerful, then he obviously needed to be subdued more thoroughly.

Rordan shuddered at the thought.

He glanced to his right to see how Owyn was doing, knowing that the other man wasn't taking this well either, but what he saw there had him staring for far longer than he probably should have. His brow was furrowed, his lips pressed into a thin line, teeth gritted behind it. He stood still and tense, both hands clenched into fists at his sides, but more so than his posture or the worry lines on his face, it was his eyes that startled the older guard. Having worked together for years, he had gotten to know the younger man well. He knew that Owyn was good at switching moods, that he could go from joking around to dead serious in seconds. He had a quick mind and a sharp wit, was capable of analyzing just about any situation and coming up with the right—or at least the best—conclusion. He was rarely startled and never remained confused for too long, always capable of finding the answers to whatever question plagued him. That's just the way he was.

So then why was there so much indecision and uncertainty in those eyes? It almost looked like he was fighting some kind of inner battle, trying to keep himself from losing control—like his thoughts were racing and he wasn't able to stop them. It wasn't a look he had ever seen on that face before, and he had certainly seen his fair share. It was as if there was some great weight on his mind, a decision he needed to make. It was the look of a man who had been told the greatest of secrets, willing to bear the weight yet somehow wishing he had never found out in the first place.

What did he know that the rest of them didn't?

Before he could think on it further, his attention was drawn back to the front of the room by Barragh. The man was talking again.

"That boy," he growled. "Even the threat of being flogged wasn't enough to keep him in that cell, and he might actually die if I give him all ten lashings like I promised. Seems I'll have to come up with another way to control him."

The lord paced back and force a few times in front of his guards, their eyes all following him, waiting for him to either give them orders or just dismiss them. They weren't needed there; it's not like he was going to be asking for their opinions or anything. Barragh simply enjoyed having an audience when he was ranting.

It was after a few minutes of nonstop pacing that the nobleman finally came to a stop, a thought clearly dawning on him as a wide smirk broke out on his face. This time it was Rordan who found his hands curling into fists and his brow furrowing while next to him Owyn's eyes were wide and afraid. Apparently something must have dawned on him as well, and the look on his face was enough to inspire a growing dread in the older guard. Fear was something else he almost never saw in those eyes.

"_That's_ it," began Barragh as if he had just stumbled upon the greatest of revelations. "That's how I'll do it. I should've thought of it sooner. If our little sorcerer wants to go home that badly, then all I have to do is make it so he can't."

With a laugh that sounded downright sinister, the nobleman pushed his way through the guards before they could even make a path for him and swept out of the room. Whatever plan he had thought up, he clearly hadn't felt the need to share it aside from that little bit of cryptic nonsense. The guards were all left alone in the audience chamber, completely lost as to what was going on…all except for one.

"_What?"_ was the thought on most of their minds.

"_Arthur"_ was on Owyn's.

* * *

When Merlin eventually came to, it wasn't in the peaceful way he was used to. His return to consciousness came in the form of a searing pain racing down his back. He cried out, unable to help it, still far too out of it to fully understand what was happening to him. His head was too foggy and his body ached in ways he hadn't known were possible. However, it apparently wasn't enough pain to keep him unconscious seeing as how more pain was able to wake him up.

Before he could dwell on it much further, there was another flash of white-hot pain, followed rather quickly by a third. He tried to get away, to move or curl up or do something that would maybe protect him from whatever was happening, but his body wouldn't listen. His arms were trapped somewhere above him and his legs refused to support his weight, leaving him sagging against what he assumed was a wall of some kind. It certainly felt like a wall. If only he could open his eyes, he'd be able to know for certain.

It wasn't until that sharp pain came back for the forth time that he realized what was happening. He was being flogged.

_Why? What happened?_

The fifth stroke of the whip (he assumed it was five. It was rather hard to count while trying to both hold onto and lose consciousness) brought not only one more moment of scorching agony but also a moment of clarity. Everything came rushing back—blowing his cell door off, attacking the guards, using his magic, getting caught, collapsing—and he found himself _really_ wishing that he could go back to being unconscious, because at least then he didn't have to think about it—about what he had done and the stupidity of his actions.

He should have waited until he was stronger. He had blown his chance, and he probably wouldn't be getting another one, not this time. His eyes began to burn at the thought, but he refused to cry, to give in, because no matter what, he didn't want anyone to know how deeply this particular failure upset him. He couldn't let anyone find out, especially not Barragh, because whatever weakness he could find, he would hold onto. He would poke and prod and use it in whatever way possible until he could get Merlin to do what he wanted. That's the kind of person he was, and the warlock couldn't let that happen, because as much as he would have liked to believe that he couldn't be broken, he knew very well that he could.

He had to be careful. He needed to hold back and control himself, because he had taken too great a risk this time, had acted too hastily and without thought to the consequences. If Barragh were to ever find out just what had driven him to act so rashly, so desperately, then he likely wouldn't rest until he found a way to use it against him. If he ever found out about Arthur…

But Arthur was missing.

That thought alone was enough to almost bring him to tears again. He fought them back as best he could, but he couldn't hold them off completely, because he knew that even though he wasn't directly responsible for what had happened, it was still his fault. He hadn't been there. It was his duty to protect Arthur, to keep him safe, and he had failed.

He had failed because he was too weak to escape, completely useless without his magic to help him, and too much of a fool to notice an obvious trap when it was supposed to be his job to look out for such things. He was an idiot and a failure, and he _hated_ it. He _hated_ feeling helpless and lost and weak, unable to even stand let alone defend himself from what was happening. He _hated_ it.

Why couldn't he just fall unconscious already?

"That's enough for now," someone said behind him, his mind barely registering the words. A very small part of him was somewhat confused, because he was pretty sure that the last time he had been flogged, Barragh had promised he'd make it ten. He knew he was a bit out of it, but he didn't think his counting skills were quite that appalling. Did that mean he would be receiving the other five later? Not a very comforting thought, that.

"Clean him up and take him to his new cell."

_New cell?_ Oh, right, he had sort of destroyed the other one.

Before he could think on anything much further, his arms were being released and there were hands holding him up before setting him on the ground. They disappeared for a moment only to come back in order to wipe away the blood from his new injuries. The wounds were dressed quickly and rather haphazardly before a shirt was forced onto him, and even though it hurt, he tried not to let it show. He kept his eyes closed and tried to pretend that he had passed out, but whether they believed his acting or not, it didn't make the hands any more or less gentle with him.

As soon as they were done fixing him up (definitely not Owyn or Rordan considered the shoddy job and the lack of conversation), he found himself being hauled upright and then half dragged, half carried from the room. By that point he no longer cared where he was going. It didn't much matter, really. They could lock him in a cupboard for all he cared; it was likely to make little difference. His magic was too far away for him to reach now. He couldn't feel it anymore at all. No matter how hard he tried, it wouldn't answer his call. He had used too much, had forced it to act in ways it shouldn't have been able to under so much strain. He had been reckless, and now he was paying the price. He _couldn't_ use his magic.

Regardless of where they put him, he wouldn't be able to escape.

* * *

_Damn it, where is he?_

After almost two hours of restless pacing, Arthur felt the desperate urge to take out his frustration on something (or someone). He was used to being able to hack away at a practice dummy whenever he felt particularly overwhelmed or irritated, but seeing as how that wasn't a possibility at the moment, he would certainly settle for landing a good punch instead. Barragh and his fat face would be preferable, but at that moment he rather wanted to slam his fist into Owyn's as well.

_Where the hell is he?_

The warning bells had stopped ringing quite a while ago. He hadn't been sure what to make of that. His head had been too full of other things to pay it much mind, but he _had_ thought that once they were silenced, it wouldn't be long before Owyn would come back and tell him what the _bloody hell_ was going on. Sure, he hadn't exactly said he would, but surely the man was considerate enough not to just leave him there without answering a single question.

…Right?

The prince slammed his fist into the wall in a moment of anger before pulling back the abused appendage with a hiss. He inspected the damage, testing to see if he could still move his fingers alright. Nothing appeared to be broken or sprained, but his knuckles were a bit bloody now, and he had probably bruised something (or a lot of things) as well. Cursing himself for his loss of control, he threw his back against the wall and slid down until he was sitting on the floor. He had thought that maybe he would feel better after venting like that.

He didn't.

Clutching his injured hand close to his chest, the prince hung his head and closed his eyes, his anger giving way to a much less familiar emotion but one he was gradually becoming more and more acquainted with. He liked to think of it as exhaustion. He got the feeling that most people would call it dejection…or hopelessness.

_Merlin…_

He was just so tired. Tired of not having answers, of not knowing what was going on, of finally finding a lead only to be denied, to have it snatched away and be left with nothing over and over again. He wasn't sure how much more he could take. What if this time was nothing more than a false hope as well?

_Is Merlin really here?_

A part of him didn't want it to be true, because if Merlin really was in the castle, then he was probably a prisoner, and Barragh was not a patient man. He didn't want his friend to be subjected to that kind of cruelty. However, a larger part of him—far more desperate, more selfish—wanted him to be there, to be somewhere in the castle, because he had spent such a long time looking for him only to fail time and time again, and he was just so tired of being disappointed and worried. Having Merlin be somewhere in the castle was far better than not knowing where he was at all.

But was he really there?

It felt like too much of a coincidence. It just didn't seem possible that they would both end up in the same place…but if they were…

If Merlin really _was_ there, then why? Why was he taken? How did it happen? What did Barragh want him for? How come the guards seemed to know him? Why had they been so panicked? How had Merlin escaped? Had he ever managed it before?

Was he…was he _that_ prisoner?

He couldn't be, could he? If he was _that_ prisoner, then that would mean that he had not only escaped once but _eight_ times in the past month. It would mean that not only had Merlin found a way to pick locks but he had also found out how to unlock any door that he was locked up behind. It would also mean that Barragh felt that he was _worth_ locking up, worth keeping, that he had something the weapon's dealer wanted, and the prince was pretty sure it _wasn't_ his skills as a manservant (which Arthur swore were nonexistent at times) or his penchant for sarcasm and insolent retorts.

So he couldn't be, right? He _couldn't_ be, because if Merlin was _that_ prisoner…it would mean that Barragh had had him _flogged_.

Arthur wasn't sure if he could stomach that thought.

_Why Merlin?_

What did Barragh want him for?

_Damn it, where the hell is Owyn?_

The sound of a door opening drew his attention, followed by the steady sound of footsteps. He tensed, raising his head just enough to be able to see the floor outside his cell. He wasn't sure who was approaching or why, so he didn't want to appear too eager or too interested in what was going on. Owyn was the only person he actually wanted to see at that moment. He was the only one Arthur could actually talk to. The prince didn't trust anyone else enough to ask them about Merlin.

The footsteps grew louder, and eventually he saw four men walk past his cell. He couldn't tell who they were just from their legs, but it didn't much matter seeing as how none of them bothered to stop in front of his cell, which meant that none of them were Owyn nor had they brought him any food. If that was the case, then he wasn't interested. He would just go back to brooding and asking questions he didn't have the answers to until that poor excuse for a guard decided to show up.

That plan failed rather quickly when he heard the sound of a cell door being opened and a body hitting the floor. He glanced up and watched as the guards walked away, disappearing down the corridor. He waited until he could no longer hear their footsteps before turning to look at the corner cell right next to his own, a barred wall the only thing separating the two. His eyes widened a bit at what he found.

There was someone in there. He couldn't see too much of them from the angle he was at, but that was definitely a person albeit a rather disheveled one. All he could really make out was a pair of worn brown breeches and a white shirt, though it was stained red in places along the back. Whoever they were, it was obvious that they were hurt seeing as how they hadn't even bothered to move yet (he was _almost_ certain the other prisoner wasn't dead, if only because it was a waste of time to lock up a dead body, and he didn't think Barragh was quite _that_ twisted).

Arthur found himself at a bit of a loss as to what was going on. At first he was just confused, because he was pretty sure that Owyn had told him that Barragh never put prisoners next to each other. However, most of that confusion vanished into curiosity when the figure in the cell next to him groaned and shifted. He stayed silent, watching and waiting, anxious in a way he didn't quite understand. He still couldn't see much of the other person, which was honestly rather frustrating, but despite his curiosity, he didn't want to appear too eager or too concerned. Surely it would be better to wait and let them make the first move.

The prisoner—a man, he determined—groaned again in either pain or exasperation (it was rather hard to tell, really) before shifting a bit more, trying and failing to get his arms under him to get up off the floor. He sighed rather loudly after the failed attempt and then proceeded to just lie there, either too frustrated or too tired to care, and Arthur found himself debating on whether or not to just call out and be done with it.

He didn't get the chance. The other man huffed a soft laugh before speaking in a tired voice, pitched at a mere whisper.

"Well, that certainly could've gone better…"

Arthur froze, his heart stopping for a moment as he sucked in a sharp breath that seemed to get lodged in his throat. It was a little rough, a little worn, and far too quiet, but there was no mistaking that voice.

There had been times where he was terrified that he would never hear it again.

He tried to swallow around the lump in his throat, afraid that he was somehow mistaken, that he was seeing things or dreaming, because it wouldn't do to get his hopes up only for them to come crashing down. The world was good at giving him the things he wanted only to snatch them away again, and didn't most things that were too good to be true turn out to be exactly that?

Still…_still_, he had to know. His heart would never allow him to do otherwise.

He tried not to sound as desperate as he felt, but in the end he didn't care, didn't try to censure what he was feeling as he nearly choked on just one word.

"_Mer_lin."

The prisoner tensed with a soft gasp, and then with renewed effort, he began to try and force himself up. He turned his body until he could see the cell next to him, and Arthur finally caught a glimpse of what he had known would be there all along.

Dark hair, pale skin, and two piercing blue eyes.

"Arthur…"

After over a month of searching, he had finally found him.

He had found Merlin.

* * *

**A/N:** So...I sort of bought a lottery ticket today (or five). I haven't bought one in years, but given how large the Powerball is, I thought I may as well. It certainly is a fun idea, at the very least. Wish me luck :)

Anyway, thank you again for taking the time to read this. I'm glad so many people are enjoying it. Feel free to drop a review if you like. I'd love to hear from you :) And so sorry I didn't get around to the responses again. Life is rather good at getting in the way. So is internet failure.

Anyway, my arm is starting to hurt, so I'm going to take off. Thanks again!

Until next week!


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N:** Alas, I did not win the lottery. I was really hoping I would, but I guess it wasn't meant to be. But anyway, thank you so much for all the reviews. Seriously, I'm not really sure what to say other than thank you. I know I haven't had time to do individual responses, but I really am grateful. You all make my week so much more bearable. Anyway, gonna keep this short tonight cause I can barely keep my eyes open :)

**Title: **Of Twisted Morals and Human Weaponry  
**Author: **BeyondTheStorm  
**Rating: **T for...well, a lot of things. Some language, some violence, the whole general situation, a bit of torture, etc.  
**Characters/pairings:** The cast is as follows: Merlin, Arthur, an antagonist, two guards with names, and a few without. Merlin and Arthur are the main focus of this story. Oh, and no pairings. Only friendship here, though if you want to read more into it, feel free. Whatever floats your boat :)  
**Spoilers: **Um...none, as far as I know.  
**Warnings: **Abuse, a bit of torture, me being descriptive  
**What to expect:** Bromance, introspection, angst, some whump, H/C, lots of drama, lots of worrying...oh, and some magic. Can't forget the magic :)

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Merlin :)

Other than, you know, working 6 bloody days in a row, I spent quite a bit of time trying to memorize a song I found this week. It may very well be one of my new favorite songs of all times. If you like Japanese music (this one is Jrock), then you should totally look for the song "Order Made" by Radwimps. It has quite possibly some of the most beautiful lyrics ever (you can easily find a version with subtitles on youtube). Seriously, listen to it :) It's gorgeous *end shameless plug*

Not much to say about this chapter. It's a tad shorter but still over 4,000 words. Um...I won't say how it ends. I'm pretty sure you all know by now anyway :)

Onward!

* * *

CHAPTER 12

After being dragged from the room, Merlin hadn't really paid his surroundings much attention. He had been perfectly content to just keep his eyes closed and let the guards take him to whatever cell they had been ordered to throw him in. He hadn't really cared simply because it wouldn't make any difference. He was just too tired to be bothered with the details. It was all the same to him anyway, so what did it matter?

A great deal, apparently. He couldn't help but wonder if the world, life, fate—whatever or whoever it was that dictated things like this—got some strange sense of satisfaction out of continuously proving him wrong. Honestly, what other explanation was there, because for the life of him, he could find no other reason for something like this to happen, because things like this just simply _didn't_ happen. The odds were too great, too ridiculous, and yet there was no denying what he was seeing as he forced his arms to support his exhausted, injured body in order to look at the cell next to his.

Sitting there staring back at him with wide eyes was a man who looked exactly like—

"Arthur…"

He was hallucinating. He had to be, because _why_ would Arthur be there? Perhaps he had finally lost his mind, or maybe the pain was making him delusional. It was certainly possible. It made more sense than anything _else_ he could come up with. However, the longer he continued to stare, the more uncertain he became. Sure, he probably knew Arthur better than anyone else, but he was pretty sure that not even that knowledge would be enough to create such an accurate, lifelike hallucination. Plus, he's pretty sure that he had actually heard him call his name instead of the sound just echoing in his mind. He was no expert, but he was fairly certain that hallucinations couldn't actually talk.

But if that was the case, it meant that Arthur really was there, sitting in the cell next to his.

He wasn't entirely sure which scenario he preferred.

In the end though, it didn't really matter which one made more sense or which one he would rather have it be, because the truth of the matter was that Arthur _was_ there. The real question was why. Why was the crown prince of Camelot in the cell next to him? Barragh had never put him next to anyone before, so why now, and why Arthur of all people? What was that arrogant lord thinking, doing something as ridiculous as this?

The first reason he came up with was enough to make his blood run cold.

_Does Barragh know?_ Had he somehow found out about the connection between him and the prince?

Merlin very quickly recalled every conversation he had ever had while in the castle, every word he had ever spoken, and he couldn't think of a single time where he had mentioned Arthur. Barragh knew that he was from Camelot and that there was someone he had sworn loyalty too, but he didn't know who and the warlock had never elaborated. He had always been careful not to give anything away that could endanger the people he cared about, so there was no way that he could possibly know about Arthur. It was simply impossible. He needed to believe that, because he knew what would happen if that wasn't the case. He knew what kind of man Barragh was, what he was capable of, and how he liked to control people.

Merlin had managed to remain strong so far, but if something were to happen to Arthur—if he were to be _threatened_…

It was suddenly vitally important for him to know why the prince was there, and since it didn't look like Arthur would be finding his voice anytime soon if the disbelieving, gaping stare was anything to go by, he would have to make the first move. At any other time he probably would have made fun of the prince for being rendered speechless (not an easy feat), but he wasn't sure how long he had before he either passed out or someone decided to check on them. He needed answers, and he needed them now.

But where to begin?

"What—how…" He wasn't sure where to even start or what question to ask first; he had so many—it had been over a month, after all—and all of them were important. There was just so much he wanted to say, to ask, but he started with the most pressing one first, his voice shaking as his strength began to wane. "Why are you _here_?"

Unfortunately, his arms gave out before he could properly finish and he found himself collapsing back to the floor, his question ending in a groan as the fresh wounds on his back pulled and burned. He closed his eyes tightly, trying to bite back any more sounds that threatened to escape (the situation was embarrassing and frustrating enough the way it was. The last thing he wanted was to appear even more pathetic than he already felt). He didn't even bother trying to move again; he already knew it wouldn't be a wise decision. Besides, he could still see Arthur if he moved his head a bit. He didn't need to be propped up to look at him.

When he opened his eyes, he saw that the prince had finally broken out of his shocked stupor. It seemed that the warlock's collapse had been enough to spur him into motion even though it had put an end to his own. Arthur had moved himself right next to the bars between their cells, getting as close as possible. They really weren't all that far apart. If he were to move his arm a bit, he'd probably be able to reach him.

"Merlin," the prince began only for the warlock to cut him off.

"Why are you here?" he asked again albeit far more softly. However, instead of answering, Arthur just shook his head, his expression changing into something that was both familiar and foreign. It was firm and commanding—the look of a future king—but it was dampened, softer…concerned.

Maybe he really was hallucinating.

"That's not important right now," Arthur told him. He was rather tempted to argue that yes, it was important, but before he could even attempt to say anything, the prince was moving again. He unwrapped one of his hands from around the bars he had been holding onto and reached out. He was careful and cautious, moving slowly as if he were afraid for some reason (Merlin wondered if maybe Arthur wasn't entirely sure that this was real either) before very gently placing his hand on the warlock's shoulder. Merlin couldn't stop himself from flinching at the touch—everything still hurt, after all—and even though Arthur tensed for a moment as if he were about to pull away, he kept his hand where it was.

Neither of them would admit to it, but they needed the connection. They had both gone far too long without it, both fearing that they may never have it again.

Funny how something so simple could be so incredibly grounding.

Reluctant to move his hand from his servant's shoulder just yet, the prince instead distracted himself with taking a closer look at the boy's less-than-ideal state. He was pale, even more so than usual, with dark circles under his eyes, but the most worrying part was the blood that was soaking through his shirt in places. At first he had thought, _hoped_, that the marks had been left by old wounds, that the shirt just hadn't been washed or disposed of, but he knew that wasn't the case. Whatever injuries Merlin had suffered had been recent. They also hadn't been treated properly. There didn't seem to be a sign of fever yet, so they likely weren't infected, but without the right care, that could very well change.

Unfortunately, he didn't have anything he could use to clean them. He really didn't have anything at all that he could use to help Merlin. Sure, he could probably do a better job of dressing the injuries than whoever had tried to patch him up, but it wouldn't matter much if the wounds weren't cleaned properly first. He would simply have to wait until someone came along with water or until Owyn decided to show his face. Surely he'd be able to help.

The prince looked down at his friend, meeting a pair of half-lidded and somewhat glazed blue eyes. Even though he couldn't see the injuries, he knew they had to be painful if they had reduced Merlin to this. It almost looked like he was on the verge of passing out. He was pretty sure the boy hadn't been beaten seeing as how his arms and face showed no signs of bruising. There was no swelling, no twisted limbs, which meant no broken bones, and seeing as how he wasn't struggling to breathe while lying on his stomach, his ribs were probably alright as well. However, the clear exhaustion and those hazy blue eyes were enough to make him worry and wonder what was wrong aside from the obvious.

"What happened to you?" he asked softly, hoping that the servant would give him an answer, but instead it seemed like his body was trying to drag him into a pain-induced sleep. His eyes slipped closed with a sigh, and for a moment Arthur was worried that he had missed something, that he had overlooked an injury and that Merlin was actually hurt a lot worse than he appeared. He wanted to squeeze the boy's shoulder to get his attention, but he didn't want to cause additional pain, so instead he just opted for calling out, hoping that for once his unruly servant would listen. "_Mer_lin."

"I'm awake," came the half-mumbled reply.

"What happened?"

Merlin cracked his eyes open a bit and looked right at the prince, a very small smile crossing his face. It was wry and perhaps a bit wistful, but it was genuine and familiar and _there_, which was enough to reassure him that the servant was in no real danger from his wounds, that whatever had been done to him wasn't life-threatening. It was a small comfort even though the words that followed were anything but.

"You know me," Merlin told him with a breathy laugh. "I'm not very good at doing what I'm told."

_Yes, I know._ He wanted to say it; he was even about to when the full implications of what his friend had just said began to sink in. His breath caught as his attention immediately returned to the patches of blood along Merlin's back. At first glance they simply looked like random spots of red, perhaps from a few cuts here and there, but that was rather unlikely. If they were just cuts and thus had been made with a knife, then there would have been wounds on his arms and legs as well, not just his back. However, the rest of Merlin was untouched. He wasn't injured anywhere else.

And the bloody spots on his back… If one were to connect them, they would form lines.

Five lines, to be exact.

Something must have shown on his face the moment he realized it, because Merlin had closed his eyes again, a pained, self-conscious expression crossing his face. Arthur couldn't decide whether to feel sick or angry, and so he settled on something in between. He clenched his teeth to keep himself from yelling at the wrong person, a pit slowly opening up in his stomach at the thought of what had occurred.

Merlin had been flogged. Someone had taken a whip to _his_ servant.

If he ever got his hands on Barragh, he'd run him through, though tearing the man limb from limb would probably be more satisfying. Not only had that overbearing tyrant tortured Merlin (and it _was_ torture, not just a punishment, because he was certain the bloody sociopath had enjoyed every moment of it), but he had managed to put _that_ kind of look on his face. There was shame there, humiliation and perhaps guilt, as if he had something to be ashamed of, as if he were somehow at fault. It wasn't right. Merlin had no reason to look like that. The fault lay entirely with Barragh. One way or another, he would pay. How _dare_ he harm one of the few people that Arthur truly cared about, his only real friend?

He would _pay_.

"Arthur," he heard Merlin call quietly, drawing the prince's attention away from his somewhat violent thoughts and back towards the situation at hand. Those blue eyes were open and clear again even though there was still a pained look about them, but that was only natural considering what he had gone through.

"What?" he prompted just as softly, waiting for whatever it was that Merlin had to say.

"Why are you here?"

It was the same question as before. In all honestly, he really should have been expecting that; after all, he never _did_ answer. However, he wasn't entirely sure if he could. There were so many answers to that question, and he wasn't certain which one the servant wanted from him. Knowing Merlin though, it was probably all of them, or if there _was_ a specific answer he was looking for, it would probably end up being the only one that Arthur wouldn't think to give (or wouldn't want to). His servant was peculiar like that sometimes. Nonetheless, he needed to say something. They hadn't seen each other in over a month, after all. Of course there would be questions after meeting up again under such unbelievable circumstances.

"I'm being held for ransom," he said. It was best to start simple. He knew it wasn't enough of an explanation, but he'd wait to see how far Merlin wanted to take it before offering up much more than that.

A puzzled look appeared on the servant's face before he opened his mouth again, his words a bit unsure. "But, how…?"

"I was ambushed by Barragh's men near the border."

Even more confusion filtered into his expression, a frown appearing on his face as he stared up at the prince. Arthur found himself trying to predict the next question, already having a good idea of where Merlin intended to go with this.

"What were you doing so far from Camelot?"

He didn't say anything at first—just because he had known what the question would probably be didn't make it any easier to answer. He was so very tempted to lie, to tell him that he had been out hunting or on a patrol or that there had been rumors of a beast and his father had sent him to slay it. He wanted to give any other answer than the one he knew to be true, because swallowing his pride was always such a hard thing to do, especially when it came to Merlin…however…

However, while he had been in Camelot, Merlin had been here—locked up, alone, hurt. Even though he had spent a great deal of time looking for his missing servant, it didn't change the fact that part of this was his fault. He was the one who had written Merlin's disappearance off as nothing more than skiving, as the boy being his lazy, insolent self. He was the one who had waited _three whole days_ before sending out anyone to look for him, pretty much guaranteeing that the ones who took him would be long gone before anyone could track them down.

If he had set off that first morning, he probably could have caught up with them. He could have saved Merlin, and then neither of them would have ended up where they were now, locked away and at the mercy of a narcissistic weapons dealer. Perhaps things would have turned out the same way anyway, regardless of what he had done, but that didn't change the fact that for three days he had done _nothing_. Had their positions been reversed, Merlin would have set off immediately, without hesitation. What did that say about him then? What kind of man did that make him?

Just what kind of friend was he?

And what about Merlin? During all that time, had he been waiting for someone to help him? Surely he had to have known that they were looking for him, right? He couldn't possibly have believed that no one cared, that they would just abandon him—that _Arthur_ would abandon him…right?

It was that thought that pushed him over the edge, that had him swallowing whatever remained of his pride, allowing him to just speak the honest truth, because Merlin needed to know that he hadn't been forgotten. He deserved to know why Arthur was really there. Pride was a small price to pay when compared to all he stood to lose by clinging to it.

"I was looking for you."

No pretending, no lies—the guilt and the relief still flooding through him would never allow it. He had promised himself that if he ever found Merlin, he would do whatever he could to be a better friend. What better way to start than by acknowledging that he actually was one?

Beneath his hand he could feel Merlin's whole body tense up, a response to being startled if his wide eyes were anything to go by. His servant was staring at him as if he had just sprouted a second head or something. He clearly hadn't been expecting an answer quite like that, and Arthur found himself feeling rather pleased that he had been able to shock him into speechlessness (a near impossible feat, all things considered, though Merlin did occasionally have his quiet moments).

Eventually his body relaxed a bit as the surprise began to wear off, but as it did, his brow furrowed and the confusion returned to his features. The prince was about to ask him what was wrong when Merlin suddenly cut him off with yet another question of his own.

"Why?"

This time it was Arthur's turn to stare back in confusion.

"Why what?" Just what did Merlin have a problem with now?

"I…"

The warlock swallowed rather thickly, watching from his place on the floor as Arthur continued to stare at him, waiting for whatever it was he wanted to say. Merlin was tempted to just tell him not to mind it, that it wasn't important, but at the same time he wanted to know what the prince would say, how he would react. A part of him wanted nothing more than to berate his friend for coming after him, for risking himself like that when it wasn't necessary, but the part of him that was more selfish, more unsure, needed reassurance. He needed to know whether or not it truly went both ways.

"I'm just a servant, Arthur."

"No, you're not," he said, nearly cutting the warlock off. Once again Merlin found himself at a loss for words as he looked up and saw a face full of conviction. "Not to me, anyway."

The warlock wasn't sure what to say. What _could_ he say to something like that? He had been half expecting Arthur to agree with him—well, maybe not _agree_, because Arthur almost _never_ agreed with him, but at the very least he had been expecting a comment about half-decent servants. He certainly hadn't been expecting that. Sure, Merlin had called Arthur a friend more than once, but he couldn't really remember a moment where the prince had referred to him as such in return (being enchanted didn't count). He hadn't used the word itself, but he had flat out admitted that the warlock wasn't just a servant, that he was important enough to look for. Arthur really had cared enough to come after him, unaided and against his father's wishes (Uther would never waste his time and resources searching for a servant, least of all Merlin).

He wanted to say something, wanted to thank him in some way, but he couldn't find the right words. Nothing would be enough, so instead of trying to put his gratitude into some kind of "thank you" that would only ever fall short, he simply smiled, his grin widening even further when Arthur returned it. As terrible as the situation was that they had landed themselves in, he was still grateful, still glad to see the prince unharmed and no longer missing. His friend was right there, and maybe together they'd be able to escape from Barragh and go home.

_Barragh…_

_Why did he…?_

Now that he was beginning to settle down a bit from the sudden flood of emotions that seeing Arthur again had stirred up, he found himself wondering just what the lord was up to. He was certain now that Barragh didn't know about his connection to Arthur, so then why had he decided to put them next to each other? What was he planning to accomplish? What good would it do? If they had been strangers, Arthur would have probably ignored him for the most part and vice versa. Sure, maybe they would have talked a bit, but it wouldn't have amounted to anything important. Just what was he thinking? Why put him next to the prince of Camelot…oh.

Merlin was a sorcerer from Camelot.

Arthur was the crown prince of Camelot.

Camelot executed sorcerers.

_So that's it._ Barragh was trying to keep him from using magic. He was trying to prevent him from escaping again. Well, little did the lord know he was just wasting his time, because after that last attempt, Merlin _couldn't_ use his magic. He was far too tired to even try to reach for it. It would've actually been a good plan under different circumstances even if not for the reasons Barragh probably thought, but in all honesty…if it came down to it, he _would_ use his magic to protect Arthur whether the prince saw him do it or not. He would rather avoid that kind of situation altogether though if he could, because if Arthur were to react badly—if he were to abandon him, hate him, want nothing more to do with him, then, well…he was pretty sure he would break.

Arthur was the purpose for his magic, for his life, and if he were to lose that…

_Wait…no. No, no, no, he wouldn't—_

The warlock sucked in a sharp breath, his pulse quickening as his heart pounded against his chest as if it were about to burst. He found himself suddenly terrified, unable to finish that thought for fear of where it would lead, because surely he was mistaken. It was too great a risk; so much could go wrong, and yet…Barragh had put him there for a reason. He wanted him next to Arthur. What if he planned on telling the prince what he was? What if he told Arthur that Merlin was a warlock? Would he really stoop that low?

Yes.

Yes, he would. Everything Barragh had done to him so far had been to try and get him to swear his magic and his loyalty to him, even if it meant breaking him. As far as the lord knew, he was just a sorcerer from Camelot, and all Merlin was trying to do was go home, but if the prince of Camelot were to find out he was a sorcerer…then he would no longer have a home to go back to.

_No…_

No, that couldn't happen. It couldn't. His heart clenched at the thought and he slammed his eyes shut, not wanting to think about it anymore, but the damage was already done. He knew now that there was a good chance that Arthur was going to find out about him, about his magic, and he was _terrified_. There was absolutely nothing he could do, no way to fix this. He couldn't escape and neither could Arthur. If Barragh decided to say anything about his magic, there would be no stopping him.

It was highly unlikely that he'd be getting out of this with his secret still intact.

The hand on his shoulder tightened just a bit, not enough to hurt but enough to show that Arthur was indeed concerned while making an attempt to comfort him in the only way he could. It was a nice gesture, but it wasn't helping, because the kinder Arthur was to him, the more it hurt to think that sometime soon he could lose all of that, everything that the two of them had built. What was he supposed to do?

"Merlin?" Arthur called, but the warlock kept his eyes closed, unable to face the prince. He knew that he would have to eventually, but at that moment he just couldn't, not when his thoughts were so scattered and the fear would be easily seen in his eyes. He just needed a moment to calm down, to let things settle, and then he could write it off as a spasm or something—his body really did hurt, so it wouldn't be a complete lie.

He just needed a little more time. Was that too much to ask?

Apparently it was.

"Merlin, what—?" Arthur began to ask only for the sound of a door opening down the corridor cut him off. Both prisoners froze, listening for what they knew would follow, and sure enough, it wasn't long before they could hear the telltale sound of footsteps echoing in the otherwise silent hall.

Someone was coming.

* * *

**A/N:** I'm sorry. I know, I did it again, but those kinds of endings are so much easier for me (and more fun). I fear there may be a few more before we're done.

Anyway, thank you again for the wonderful response, and to all those reading, I hope you're enjoying this fic. If you feel so inclined, please go ahead and drop a line. I'd be happy to hear from you, but please don't ever feel obligated. I'm more than happy just knowing that there are people taking the time to read my work :)

There was probably something else I wanted to say, but I'm too tired to think of it.

Anyway, that's all for now. Until next week!


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N:** Nothing to say this time around. I'm extremely tired, so I'm going to do this quickly tonight :)

**Title: **Of Twisted Morals and Human Weaponry  
**Author: **BeyondTheStorm  
**Rating: **T for...well, a lot of things. Some language, some violence, the whole general situation, a bit of torture, etc.  
**Characters/pairings:** The cast is as follows: Merlin, Arthur, an antagonist, two guards with names, and a few without. Merlin and Arthur are the main focus of this story. Oh, and no pairings. Only friendship here, though if you want to read more into it, feel free. Whatever floats your boat :)  
**Spoilers: **Um...none, as far as I know.  
**Warnings: **Abuse, a bit of torture, me being descriptive  
**What to expect:** Bromance, introspection, angst, some whump, H/C, lots of drama, lots of worrying...oh, and some magic. Can't forget the magic :)

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Merlin :)

Thank you so much for all the lovely reviews and all the alerts/favorites :) It really does mean a great deal to me, so thank you! I just wish I had enough time to respond to everyone, but alas, work seems to enjoy sucking the life out of me (and the heat. It's bloody freezing in that store. I even have fingerless gloves now because it was so cold).

So my eyes were sort of blurring when I went through this, so if you find any mistakes, please point them out, and I shall fix them when I get home from work.

Onward!

* * *

CHAPTER 13

From the moment they had thrown him into his new cell, he had known that this would happen. It was too much to hope that he'd be left alone, even for a little while, or that they would give him enough time to really talk to Arthur. He still had questions, and he was certain that the prince did as well—ones he could and couldn't answer—but apparently that would have to wait until later. Whoever was coming down the corridor was getting closer, and as much as he wanted it to be one of the guards, he had a feeling it wasn't. The sinking feeling in his stomach wouldn't allow him to believe otherwise, and the sound of the footsteps was too familiar, too unsettling. He had learned to dread it over the last month but never as much as he did now.

Barragh.

Barragh was coming, and Arthur didn't _know_. He didn't know about the situation they were in, about what could happen, or even what Barragh wanted. He didn't _know_, and if he were to say the wrong thing in front of the overbearing lord…

The footsteps were drawing closer. Merlin knew that he didn't have much time to act, but there was one thing that _had_ to be done. He could only hope that Arthur would go along with it, that just this once he would do as he was told.

"Arthur," he called, his voice barely even a whisper, but in such close proximity, the prince had no problem hearing him. Once he was certain he had his friend's undivided attention, he pressed onward with as much gravity as he could force into his voice. "Arthur, I need you to listen to me. It's important—and don't give me that whole 'I'm the prince, I give the orders' lark, because I really don't care right now, and we both know I never do as I'm told anyway."

Something about what he had said must have struck the prince as urgent—whether it was the seriousness in his voice or the words themselves, he didn't know—because as soon as he was done talking, Arthur's eyes narrowed, and in a voice just as quiet and grave, he asked, "What is it?"

He was almost certain Arthur wasn't going to like what he had to say, but it had to be done. For both their sakes, he needed to agree, or everything would be over. No matter what, Merlin couldn't let things come to that. He just couldn't.

"No matter what happens," he began, fighting the urge to look away but keeping his eyes firmly fixed on the prince, "you can't let Barragh know that you know me."

He watched as those blue eyes widened fractionally as the prince's mouth twisted into a slight frown. There was confusion there, as well as a bit of suspicion, but strangely enough (or perhaps not so strangely, all things considered), concern seemed to be the predominant reaction to such a request. When Arthur voiced his confusion, it came out as something even less than a whisper.

"What?"

He knew he needed to explain. He _knew_ that, but he couldn't do it. The footsteps were drawing closer, and he was certain that it would be Barragh coming around the corner. He still didn't know for sure what the man intended to do or what his plan truly was, but he knew for a fact that if the nobleman were to find out about his connection to the prince, he would exploit it. He would use Arthur against him, and Merlin wouldn't be able to do anything to stop it. He'd be forced into submission, because no matter what became of him, he had to protect Arthur.

As long as Arthur lived, his fate didn't matter. Even if Barragh were to tell the prince about his magic, even if Arthur couldn't accept it—even if he grew to _hate_ him because of it—that was alright…just so long as the prince lived. If he could have nothing else, nothing for himself, then he at least wanted that. Surely that wasn't too much to ask.

The footsteps were getting louder. He was running out of time.

"I don't…" he began, swallowing heavily as he tried to get the words out, praying that Arthur would agree just this once, "I don't have time to explain, just…just promise me you won't let him know. You need to pretend you don't know me."

He knew it was a lot to ask, especially of someone like Arthur. He didn't like being told to do things, least of all by Merlin, but this had to be done. He couldn't tell him why or give him any sort of explanation, at least not yet, and he wasn't even entirely sure if he _could_ explain it without everything blowing up in his face, but he'd worry about that later. At the moment, getting the prince to trust him was far more important.

"Please, Arthur. Just this once, listen to me. It's important."

"I…"

"_Please_, Arthur. Promise me."

The prince opened his mouth to say something but then closed it just as quickly, his voice failing him as he stared down at the young man lying before him. He wasn't sure what to say. He had no idea what was going on or why Merlin was asking such a thing from him. Even though the face looking back at him was firm and determined, there was something frantic in that gaze, a fear he couldn't quite understand. He had so many questions, but he knew there wasn't time to ask them considering how close those footsteps sounded. Each one seemed to build on the desperation he could see in Merlin's somewhat hazy eyes, still glazed with pain, both physical and not. It bothered him…a lot.

The servant knew something he didn't—about Barragh, about everything—and so Arthur came to a very quick though perhaps not entirely rational (for a prince, anyway) decision. In the end it was rather simple, because it really came down to just one thing: trust. Arthur trusted Merlin, and after everything his friend had gone through, the least he could do was grant him this one request. Perhaps he didn't understand why Merlin was asking this of him, but that okay for now. He'd find out the truth eventually, so until then—just this once—he would listen to him.

"…I promise," he said with a nod. He half expected Merlin to be surprised at his easy agreement, but instead the desperation only seemed to grow. A part of him had kind of believed that Merlin was just being a little paranoid given the situation (he chose to ignore the voice in his head saying that Merlin's "paranoia" had an irritating habit of being well-founded), but now he was starting to think that maybe things were a _lot_ more serious than he had originally thought.

"No matter what?" Merlin asked, his eyes flicking over to the corridor outside their cell.

"No matter what. I won't let him know."

Satisfied with that answer, Merlin slowly moved away from the bars, wanting to put some distance between him and the prince before anyone saw them conversing. Arthur's hand slipped from his shoulder as he pulled away, and he found himself missing the contact almost instantly. However, this was necessary. In order to protect Arthur, he had to act like he didn't know him. It wouldn't be too difficult, all things considered, because he had gotten rather good at dealing with Barragh and keeping his mouth shut about certain things over the last month. He just hoped that the man didn't decide to reveal him as a warlock to Arthur. If he did…

Well, he would just rather not think about that. For now he was just hoping that Arthur wouldn't let anything slip.

The warlock managed to drag himself over to the middle of his cell before his strength gave out entirely and he collapsed onto the floor again. It was at that time that the owner of the footsteps finally came into view.

Barragh. Just as he had thought, and he even looked exactly the way Merlin had figured he would: arrogant and pleased with himself with a wide, smug grin on his face. It was the look of someone who believed he had won and was basking in the glory of it while rubbing his victory into the faces of everyone else. The warlock really hated that look. He had seen it far too often, and it was beginning to irritate him. Not that there was anything he could really do about it though. Until he could come up with a plan or something, he was still at Barragh's mercy. A pity that the man didn't believe in giving it.

When the nobleman reached his cell, he immediately used his personal set of keys to unlock the door. There was no one else with him, no guards or henchmen whatsoever; Barragh had actually come alone for once with no one around to keep watch or guard the cell. Instead he just pushed the door open and walked in, and to add insult to injury, he didn't even bother closing it behind him. He was more or less saying that he didn't consider the warlock to be a threat to him in the slightest. Oh how Merlin wished he could use his magic to teach the towering mountain of a man a lesson, but he knew that was impossible for him. He couldn't reach his magic, after all, and with Arthur there, he wouldn't dare use it unless he could guarantee their escape (or at least the prince's. He still wasn't entirely sure what Arthur would do to him when he found out about the magic, and to be honest, he really wasn't in any hurry to find out).

"So," Barragh began, his voice just as irritating and smug as his face, "how do you like your new cell?"

The warlock chose not to say anything and instead just averted his gaze. He wasn't in the mood for this. All he really wanted was to pass out for a while and not be bothered. His back was really starting to burn, and the hollow feeling throughout his body was beginning to bother him far more than he would have ever been willing to admit. It was unnerving and worrisome to not be able to feel his magic, to not have that constant warmth flowing through him. If he ever made it out of this alive, he would never take it for granted again.

"Oh, so you're ignoring me now, are you? Is that how you want to play this?"

Still he said nothing as he tried to school his expression into something indifferent. He wouldn't give him the satisfaction of getting a reaction. For as long as he could, he would keep quiet and just continue to ignore him. Hopefully he would get bored of gloating and just leave. One could only hope.

The weapons dealer gave a soft huff before moving closer until he was standing right in front of the warlock, staring down at him. Still Merlin refused to look at anything other than the floor. He knew that he would probably end up angering the lord if he kept ignoring him, but at the same time he really didn't feel like trading insults. He just wanted to be left alone, and the less he goaded the man, the sooner that would happen. Barragh had a habit of getting bored when he couldn't get a reaction out of someone.

Unfortunately, his resolve could only go so far. Verbal abuse was one thing. A booted foot pressing down on his back was another thing entirely. Try as he might, he couldn't keep from crying out as pressure was placed on his poorly bandaged and still very fresh wounds. He closed his eyes tight and tried not to react any further, all the while praying that no matter what happened to him, Arthur would keep his word and not say or do anything stupid. If he were to get too upset over the treatment of a "stranger," someone he wasn't supposed to know anything about, Barragh would get suspicious, and knowing him, it wouldn't take long for him to put the pieces together.

For both their sakes, Arthur needed to keep quiet.

Easier said than done.

In his own cell, the prince had to clench his jaw and grit his teeth to keep himself from saying anything. His hands were balled into fists at his sides, and that was where he kept them, all the while wishing that there was some way for him to get into the other cell so he could bash Barragh's face in. The anger and irritation he usually felt when thinking about the nobleman had increased tenfold now that he was actually standing before him. He wanted to say something, wanted to _do_ something, but he knew deep down that he couldn't, that no matter what, he needed to play the part of the proud, conceited prince. He needed to pretend that he wasn't bothered, that the fate of another prisoner was none of his concern.

He had promised, after all.

To be honest, at first he had been incredibly confused. When Barragh had appeared before their cells, he had originally assumed that the man would barge into his. He had been expecting a few pointed comments about sending word to his father, detailing his rather embarrassing capture and his even more shameful imprisonment. However, the man had instead ignored him entirely, apart from a brief glance, and gone straight for Merlin. Why?

What did he want with Merlin?

For the life of him, Arthur could not find an answer. He couldn't come up with a single reason as to why someone would bother to kidnap Merlin unless it was to somehow get to him or to get information about Camelot. After all, even though he often insulted the boy and called him an idiot (among other things), Merlin actually _wasn't _mentally afflicted. Despite his seeming idiocy, he was actually rather smart, and because he was Arthur's servant and Gaius' errand runner, he knew the castle almost as well as the prince himself. Merlin was also present at a great deal of council meetings, and even though he often spent them trying not to fall asleep, some of the discussions had to have sunken in. Simply put, Merlin had a lot of information on Camelot in that head of his, so kidnapping him to obtain it would possibly be understandable.

However, Barragh didn't know that. He had no idea of the role Merlin played in Camelot. Whatever it was he wanted him for, it wasn't to get information. After all, he had no idea that Merlin was Arthur's personal servant.

But then what other reason was there to keep him? How had he even gotten into this mess in the first place? Had he simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time, or had someone deliberately taken him? Why? What did Barragh want with him?

It just didn't make any sense.

"And here I thought you would be grateful," Barragh said, grinning down at Merlin with one foot still placed on the boy's back. "I told you it'd be ten lashings the next time you tried to escape, but instead I only ordered five. You should thank me for being so lenient."

When Merlin didn't say anything in reply, he increased the pressure being put on the servant's back, and Arthur watched as the patches of red on the white shirt began to grow and spread. He had been through his fair share of injuries, and although he had never been flogged before, he knew that it was painful, that the wounds felt like fire licking at your skin. Not only had the injuries not been treated properly, but Barragh was pressing down on them, making them bleed more. It _had_ to hurt, and yet Merlin was doing his best not to show it, with his eyes closed tightly and his teeth clenched together. His fingers were curled so tightly against his palms that if not for the fabric of his sleeves getting in the way, he likely would have drawn blood.

However, he didn't say anything, didn't make a sound. Aside from that first cry, he was completely silent, and Arthur realized not for the first time—though it had never hit him quite as hard as this—that Merlin was a lot stronger than anyone gave him credit for. He was also unbelievably stubborn.

Unfortunately, Arthur was finding that his own resolve wasn't quite so unwavering. The more blood he saw and the more pain he could read on Merlin's face, the more he wanted to do something to make it stop. How could he just sit there and do nothing when someone was deliberately hurting his friend? Barragh even seemed to be enjoying it, smirking all the while, and it was beginning to be a physical and mental battle for him to keep still and not rush to the bars between their cells and demand that he just _stop_ it already! If only he were standing a little closer, then Arthur could grab him through the bars and bash his head against them, maybe even snap his neck if he had enough strength. He wanted retribution for what this man had done.

"Still not going to say anything?" the lord taunted, his grin turning a shade crueler. "Maybe I _should_ give you those other five lashings. If you still have the nerve to be this insolent, then surely you could endure a few more."

By now the entire back of Merlin's shirt was stained red, and it looked like he was having trouble breathing. If Barragh noticed, he showed no signs of caring in the slightest, and to top it off, he took it one step further. He twisted his leg and dug the sole of his boot in, and this time all the resolve in the world wouldn't have made a difference.

Hearing his friend scream was the last straw for Arthur.

"_Stop_!" he yelled, already on his feet and next to the bars. "Just _stop_, damn it!"

"Oh?"

The lord turned to face him, lessening the pressure of his foot a bit as he did so, and once Merlin managed to catch his breath, he opened his eyes and looked directly at the prince. However, Arthur was doing his best not to look back even though his eyes had flicked over that way for a moment. He almost regretted speaking up when he caught a glance of the fear and sudden desperation in those blue eyes, but he couldn't find it in himself to curse his actions, because even though it hadn't been a wise move, it had gotten Barragh to _stop_. Now all he had to do was figure out how to talk his way around this without letting him find out that he knew Merlin. He stared right at the lord, trying to keep his expression firm while the face staring back regarded him with a great deal of amusement but also with just the tiniest hint of suspicion. He had to find a way to crush it before the tyrant grew too curious about his sudden outburst.

"Well, well…I never pegged you as the sympathetic type, Prince Arthur," Barragh said with a laugh. "Why do you care what I do to him? It doesn't concern you."

"Just leave him alone. He obviously can't fight back. All you're doing is picking on someone weaker than yourself. There's no honor in that."

To his surprise, Barragh didn't say anything. He just burst out laughing. It was loud and boisterous, and Arthur found himself gripping the bars even tighter as a different kind of anger began to take root. That arrogant bastard was making fun of him, was laughing at the fact that he actually had the decency to care about other people and that he believed in behaving honorably. How dare he? How dare he mock him like that?

"Honor?" the man sneered through his laughter, still looking far too amused. "What use would I have for something as worthless as that? You…you truly are ignorant, aren't you—saying something as ridiculous as _that_—but I guess you really _are_ like they say—the _noble_ prince, Arthur Pendragon, an ally of the people. Your father must be _so_ proud."

Arthur ground his teeth together, almost certain that the sound could be heard even over Barragh's fading laughter. Forget punching him in his fat face. If he ever got his hands on a sword, he'd just run him through. That was certainly a surefire way to shut someone up.

When the nobleman ceased his guffawing, he finally removed his boot from Merlin's back, sparing the prince one last amused glance before giving his attention back to his unfortunate victim. Once again Merlin had schooled his expression into something that gave nothing away, pain being the only clear thing that still lingered on his face. Arthur just watched the two of them, tensing up a bit when Barragh bent down and fisted a hand in Merlin's short hair, forcing his head up enough to look at him.

"I suppose I'll let you off with this for now, but don't think I'm through with you yet. The only reason I changed your punishment is because I've thought of something far better. You went too far this time, and I fear I've run out of patience. I _will_ break you, mark my words."

With that final threat, the lord released him, and with not even a glance back, he took his leave, locking the door behind him. As soon as his footsteps faded completely, Arthur allowed himself to relax and sink to the floor until he was leaning against the bars. He simply sat there for a moment and watched Merlin. He half expected his friend to try and drag himself back over, but he soon realized that he probably couldn't move. His eyes were closed and he was breathing hard; everything about him practically screamed that he was in pain, and yet if he didn't come closer, there was no way for Arthur to help him. Of course, it's not like there was much he could do anyway, but at the very least he could try.

If something wasn't done, the wounds would only get worse. They weren't life-threatening on their own, but if they became infected…

Arthur was about to call out to the servant, to see if he could somehow coax him into moving closer when the sound of approaching footsteps once again drew his attention. He turned to stare out into the corridor, waiting to see who it would be this time. He knew it wasn't Barragh coming back—the steps were too quick and nowhere near as loud—but otherwise he really had no idea who it could be. Judging by how frantic their steps sounded, it was probably someone who _wasn't_ supposed to be there. The fact that they were coming so soon after Barragh had left also supported that assumption.

When the steps suddenly grew much louder but slower as their owner came to the end of the hall, the prince's theory was proven right as a head of light colored hair and a pair of anxious, worried green eyes came into view.

Owyn. He should have known. No one else was quite as reckless when it came to sneaking behind Barragh's back (and probably quite literally this time too). However, much like the weapons dealer, he only spared a brief glance at Arthur before heading to Merlin's cell. The prince might have been offended under different circumstances, but he couldn't bring himself to care about the lack of acknowledgement given what Owyn was obviously there for. The guard was carrying a bucket of water in one hand and a bag in the other, one that most likely contained the necessary supplies for treating wounds. He had come to help Merlin, regardless of Barragh's wishes.

Just one more reason as to why he rather liked the somewhat odd excuse for a guard.

Arthur watched as Owyn quickly set his supplies down so he could unlock the door before dragging it all in next to their wounded friend. Unlike with Barragh, Merlin immediately turned to look at Owyn, eyes sad and pained. To Arthur's surprise, the guard glanced up in his direction again with an expression that looked a lot like guilt plastered on his face. It looked like he was trying to apologize for something. He wondered if maybe he felt bad about running off earlier without having explained anything, leaving the prince in a rather frustrated and worried state, but in all honesty, Arthur didn't really care anymore. He had had his reasons, and in the end, the prince had still managed to see Merlin again. There was no reason for him to feel guilty.

"Arthur…" he began hesitantly only for the prince to cut him off.

"It's alright. I understand."

"Even so, I'm sorry."

"Don't be." His eyes drifted to Merlin, and he found that the rest of his words came out far more softly and a lot more concerned than he had intended. "Just…please, help him."

Owyn nodded and began to prepare the supplies he had brought, some of the guilt slipping away only to be replaced with a deeper sense of concern. The guard tried to be as inconspicuous as possible as he continued to sneak glances at the two young men, trying to gauge from their expressions and their actions just what had occurred so far between them. Meeting up again had to have been a shock, but then to be visited by Barragh so soon after… That couldn't have been easy. Given the state Merlin was in, it had obviously been anything but pleasant or even civil.

Despite the obvious pain though, the warlock seemed to be more anxious than anything else, a lingering fear hiding in those half-lidded eyes. It bothered him, because in the past month, that was perhaps one of the only things he hadn't seen there before, one of the few emotions that Merlin had never allowed himself to succumb to, at least not while in his presence. It felt strange to see it now, but at the same time he was pretty sure he understood why it was there.

He had spent a lot of time thinking about the whole situation, about Merlin and Arthur and the odd bond they had, about Camelot and the laws and magic. He had tried putting everything together and then trying to figure out what Barragh had in mind by placing the two of them next to each other. In the end, he had only been able to come to one conclusion, but in order to know if he was right, he needed one vital piece of information—a confirmation.

He placed his hand on the warlock's head as a means of comfort before bending down until he could whisper into his ear without being overheard by the prince. In the end he couldn't keep his voice from betraying his worry.

"It's alright, Merlin. I know the two of you know each other. Arthur let it slip the last time we were talking. Don't worry, I won't tell anyone, but Merlin…he doesn't know, does he? About the magic."

Even before the question fully left his mouth, he knew the answer. He could see it in the way they acted towards each other, had heard it in the conversation that he and the prince had had not too long ago about morals and magic. He could even feel it in the way Merlin's tired body tried to tense up at the mere mention of that word, as if it were the greatest of taboos, and in some ways perhaps it was.

The warlock didn't need to answer, because in the end Owyn already knew, but he did it anyway.

"..._No_."

Just one word, barely more than a breath, and yet when it fell, it fell with the weight of a kingdom.

* * *

**A/N:** Well, there you go :) I hope you enjoyed the chapter. I tried not to leave it on a horrible cliff hanger again, but I may have failed.

It's come to my attention that there actually isn't all that much left of this fic, maybe six or seven more chapters. We're actually getting really close the scene that this entire story was built upon, and I'm rather excited to finally get to write it. Hopefully I can pull it off the way I want to.

Anyway, thank you for taking the time to read, and please feel free to drop a review if you like. I love getting to hear from all of you :)

Until next week!


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N:** Look! Look how early I am! It's not even 10:30 yet! This has to be a new record for me...but it's only because I wrote most of this chapter yesterday 'cause I wasn't sure if I'd be going shopping after work today or not, and I had yesterday off (a rarity). Dunno whether to be proud of that or not :)

**Title: **Of Twisted Morals and Human Weaponry  
**Author: **BeyondTheStorm  
**Rating: **T for...well, a lot of things. Some language, some violence, the whole general situation, a bit of torture, etc.  
**Characters/pairings:** The cast is as follows: Merlin, Arthur, an antagonist, two guards with names, and a few without. Merlin and Arthur are the main focus of this story. Oh, and no pairings. Only friendship here, though if you want to read more into it, feel free. Whatever floats your boat :)  
**Spoilers: **Um...none, as far as I know.  
**Warnings: **Abuse, a bit of torture, me being descriptive  
**What to expect:** Bromance, introspection, angst, some whump, H/C, lots of drama, lots of worrying...oh, and some magic. Can't forget the magic :)

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Merlin :)

Anyway, _I_ enjoyed this chapter. I've had bits of this one planned for a long time, and thanks to this chapter, I've finally gotten the last of my problems out of the way for making the rest of this fic work out the way I need it to. Lots of important stuff in here, even if it may not seem like it at first sight :)

Hope you enjoy!

Onward!

* * *

CHAPTER 14

Arthur watched silently as Owyn began to work on patching up Merlin's wounds. Using a small knife he simply cut the shirt off of him seeing as how a good portion of it was stained red. Blood wasn't easy to get out of clothing, so there was no point in trying to salvage the shirt. Plus getting it off of him would have been rather difficult without causing more pain, and that was the last thing any of them wanted. Their young friend had suffered enough.

Once the material was out of the way, Arthur was finally able to get a good look at the damage that was done. Like he had assumed before, there were five lines cut into Merlin's back, but there were also five others. They seemed to be a bit older, the flesh mostly healed but still rather tender looking. They would probably leave scars, much like the newest ones would, and that thought alone was enough to send him back into thinking about all the things he would do to Barragh if given the chance. How dare that sick, twisted, poor excuse for a nobleman do something like this to _his_ servant? No matter what, he wouldn't let him get away with it.

However, that train of thought also led him back to a very important and very elusive question: why had Barragh done this? Why Merlin? What did he want from the boy? What could he possibly hope to gain from him? It had already been decided that it wasn't information and it likely had nothing to do with Arthur or with Camelot, so then what was that man trying to do? For the life of him, he just couldn't figure it out. There had to be a reason, but he had absolutely no idea what it could possibly be. Surely both Owyn and Merlin knew though. They had to.

"Here, Merlin," he heard Owyn say, drawing his attention back to scene before him. The guard had a vial of something in his hand and was offering it to the servant. "You should probably drink this. It'll help with the pain."

"Alright," came the hoarse, tired reply. Owyn very carefully lifted him into a position where he could drink the potion before just as gently setting him back down. Merlin closed his eyes and heaved a sigh while the guard just sat back and waited for the tincture's effects to take place.

"Just try to rest for a bit," Owyn told him. "I'm sure you could use some sleep after what happened."

Merlin just murmured something sleepily in response, and just when Arthur thought that the boy really was asleep, those blue eyes opened again and shifted to Owyn. They were half-closed and groggy, but the pain in them had faded enough to see the guilt that had long before settled there.

"Owyn?" he whispered, his voice so quiet that Arthur nearly had to strain his ears to hear it.

"What is it?"

"I'm sorry. For what I did, I…I'm sorry. Could you please tell them? And Rordan—tell him I'm sorry."

"He knows," Owyn said with a reassuring smile. "We all do. No one blames you, Merlin, I swear it. We understand. Now try to get some rest."

"Okay…" His voice trailed off as his eyes slipped closed once again, his breathing slowly evening out into something much calmer as sleep finally took him.

With a deep and very relieved sounding sigh, Owyn began the long process of cleaning the poorly bandaged wounds on Merlin's back, cutting away the scraps of cloth that were used so that he could wash them properly. Barragh usually wasn't so careless with his prisoners. He knew that even a small wound could kill a man if infection were to set in, and Merlin's wounds were anything but small. To leave them unattended as they were would have been the same as condemning the warlock to death. Did he no longer care whether the boy lived or not, or was it something else? Was there another reason that he had chosen not to do anything or send anyone?

_No point in thinking about it, I guess._ It was difficult to understand the mind of a mad man, after all, although Owyn had certainly had his fair share of lucky guesses. He just hoped that that luck wouldn't run out. So far he had managed to keep Barragh off his back, but if the man were to ever find out what he and Rordan had been planning, well…things probably wouldn't end well, for any of them.

As he very carefully began to wash the blood off of Merlin's back, the guard glanced at his second favorite prisoner, watching as the prince focused his intense gaze on the sleeping warlock. His expression was set and firm, not giving anything away other than displeasure, but his eyes were another matter. There was worry there, as well as guilt, though they were overshadowed a bit by a rather intense anger, something he imagined was aimed fully at Barragh. Arthur was most likely imagining all the different ways he could make the man suffer for what he had done to the one person the prince could call a friend.

A part of him couldn't help but wonder if he would still feel that way if he knew the truth. If he knew why Merlin was here, why he had been taken, would that drive to save him still be the same?

When he and Rordan had been piecing together their plan after deciding that it might be a good idea to have the prince aid them, Owyn had set out to see whether or not he could be trusted. At first he hadn't been sure, but the answer he had arrived at had been a rather firm and resolute "yes" after that conversation they had had about magic. From the beginning they had known that Arthur would have to be told if he was going to help Merlin, and if what he had said was true, then the warlock would have been safe with him.

However, Merlin and Arthur knew each other. They were friends—important to one another—and for however many years they had known each other, Merlin had been lying to him. He had been keeping his magic a secret.

Owyn had never factored the possibility of betrayal into his plan.

Arthur was going to find out; one way or another, he _would_ find out. If he was right about the reason that Barragh had put the two of them next to each other, then there was no way that Merlin's secret could possibly remain a secret. By revealing Merlin as a sorcerer to Arthur, he would ensure that the boy no longer had a place to return to, that he would no longer be able to go back to Camelot, to his home. It all felt a bit ironic, really. Barragh had been trying to find a way to get to Merlin, to break him, and for the last week he had had the key to doing so locked up in a cell on the other side of the castle.

All he was trying to do was keep the boy from making another desperate attempt at getting home. He had no idea just how much damage he would cause by telling the prince of Camelot that Merlin had magic. If Arthur were to react poorly, then Barragh would end up stealing away far more than just a home.

_There has to be something I can do._ There had to be a way to fix this, to protect them both, but breaking them out wasn't an option. There was no way to prevent the confrontation that was coming. Arthur was going to find out. Would their bond be enough to weather such a reveal? Trust was a difficult thing to build and was even harder to piece back together after being shattered. Could the two of them withstand something as painful as that?

He didn't know, but he hoped so.

Turning his attention back to the task at hand and away from the prince, he put the now ruined cloth into the bucket of red-tinted water and grabbed a new one. He pulled out a small jar of salve, something that Rordan had told him would help with infection, and began to apply the mixture as gently as possible. Even though the potion he had given the warlock was clearly doing its job, he didn't want to cause any unneeded discomfort nor did he want to accidentally agitate the very raw and tender wounds. They were worse than last time, deeper and longer. Merlin was in for a long recovery.

"…Owyn."

At the sound of his name, he paused for a moment and looked over at the prince. Most the anger he had seen before was gone, the worry more prominent, but there was curiosity there too, a question no doubt forming on the tip of his tongue, and the guard had a good idea as to what it would be. He needed to cut him off before he could ask it, before Owyn was forced to make a choice between what was logical and what felt right.

"I know you have questions, Arthur," he said, looking away from the prince and back towards Merlin. "I'm sorry I left you earlier without explaining anything, but there honestly isn't much I can tell you. I swear I wasn't trying to hide anything from you—I had no idea that you and Merlin knew each other, if that's what you're wondering—and I'm afraid that most of the questions you probably have, I won't be able to answer."

"I only have one," Arthur said. "Two, possibly, depending on your answer."

"Go ahead."

"Is Merlin the prisoner you told me about before, the one who keeps escaping?"

He weighed his options, trying to see if answering it could potentially lead to problems, and even though the answer to that was rather obvious, he still decided to tell him the truth anyway. Besides, he got the feeling that the prince already knew the answer. Much like Owyn often did, he just wanted confirmation.

"Yes."

"Alright, then I have one more." He motioned for the prince to continue even though he was dreading the words that would come next. He knew where this was going, and this time he really did need to make a choice. Funny how just a single question was enough to place him into a situation where he couldn't win, where he would have no choice but to betray someone. Both of these young men had given him their trust.

It wasn't a burden he had ever wanted to carry, however inevitable it had been.

"What does Barragh want with him? Why Merlin?"

For what felt like hours (but was probably more like twenty minutes), Arthur had been trying his best to find an answer to that question, going over everything he knew and everything he had thought he had known, and yet he still couldn't come up with anything. It just didn't make sense. Merlin was a peasant with no defining skills or influence. There was nothing to gain by keeping him. Barragh had threatened to break him, but for what? What would that accomplish? What would be the point? Really, either Barragh was mistaken (or just flat out insane) and thought that Merlin was something he wasn't or…

…Or Merlin was hiding something. He wanted to believe it wasn't possible, that Merlin had no secrets, at least not any that he had kept from him, but he knew that wasn't true. His servant, for all his cheerful friendliness and his straight-forward insolence, was not an open book. More than once he had found himself wondering if the boy was hiding something from him, if there was something more than what could be seen on the surface, because for a mere peasant from a small village, he was uncharacteristically clever in certain situations and brave to the point of stupidity during others. He was a walking contradiction that somehow made perfect sense, and Arthur was almost certain that there was just one thing he was missing, one little piece he needed in order to understand why it all just seemed to fit.

From the moment they had met, he had felt that there was _something_ about him, something he couldn't place. Now more than ever, it felt like the answer was right in front of him, that he was only a step away from finally understanding.

"…I can't tell you."

_What?_

That was _not_ the answer he had been expecting, and it certainly wasn't the one he wanted.

"Why not?"

"Because it isn't my place to say."

"But there is a reason?" There had to be. From what he had said and the way he had said it, not to mention the story he had told Arthur about the "other prisoner," there was definitely a reason.

"Yes."

"Owyn, _please_, just…tell me something, anything. I want—"

_I want to understand._

"I can't."

"Owyn!"

"I _can't_!"

Owyn turned to face the prince, and if Arthur hadn't been silenced by the outburst, the look on the guard's face would have been more than enough to render him speechless.

"You don't understand—it's not that simple! I can't just _tell _you, because I _don't_ know how you'll…!" He ran a frustrated hand through his hair, gripping it at the crown in a hold that had to be bordering on painful. "I _want_ to trust you, Arthur, but I'm not sure if I can, not with _this_, and there's too much I don't know to even _try_. You're going to find out eventually, but Merlin should be the one to tell you. It isn't my place."

At first he wasn't sure what to say or which part of that he should be reacting to; Owyn had pretty much stated outright that he didn't trust him, at least not with whatever secret they were all keeping, but that brought up the question of exactly _who_ he didn't trust—the prince of Camelot or Arthur. There _was_ a difference, because he was more than just a prince, more than his father's heir, even though his status often stood as a barrier between him and other people. He had his own mind, his own beliefs, his own ideals, and sometimes they didn't line up with the ones his father had built their kingdom upon.

He was so much _more_ than just a representation or an enforcer of Camelot's laws and standards; a part of him had always known that, but it had been Merlin who had truly shown him just how far a person could drift from what was expected of them without truly giving up everything that they were. Yes, Arthur was a prince, the future king of Camelot, but that wasn't all he was, and no matter what happened, he had no intention of changing. He could never be the kind of king his father was. He would be a friend to the people as well as their ruler. He would protect them with everything he had, and if something or someone was important to him, he would not hesitate to give his all to keep them safe, even if it meant his life. Maybe it was counterproductive in a way, perhaps even selfish, but so what? Human beings were selfish creatures, and not even kings were beyond that measure. It was impossible to live a life completely detached, and he had no interest in ever trying. He would continue to protect all that he held dear regardless of the cost, even if it meant trekking across the kingdom on his own in search of a missing servant.

It was funny in a way how selfless actions could sometimes come from the most selfish of intents.

"I'm sorry."

Arthur's head snapped up from where his attention had drifted to the floor, and he was somewhat surprised to find that Owyn was done tending to Merlin and was instead just sitting there watching him. Just how long had he been lost in thought?

"I know it must be frustrating," Owyn continued, "not having all the answers."

"Can't you at least tell me something?"

"No, I can't, but…" The guard got to his feet, bag and bucket in hand. "I _can_ give you some advice."

Arthur wanted to scoff at that, but the look on Owyn's face kept him quiet.

"No matter what happens, never question his loyalty to you. I may not know what the two of you have gone through, but I'm almost certain that everything he's done has been for you. Don't ever throw that away."

"What? What are you—?"

"You know, sometimes its better not to have all the answers," Owyn said as he made his way to the door, glancing back at the prince only after he was out in the corridor. There was a small grin on his face—a far cry from his usual smile, but it still managed to quell some of the unease in his heart. "After all, if people were meant to know everything about each other, then a thing like trust wouldn't exist, would it."

With that said, the guard quickly locked the door behind him and disappeared down the corridor before Arthur could even think of a single thing to say. He had been left on his own again with only his thoughts for company, and when his eyes drifted over towards the unconscious servant in the cell next to him, he was certain that he'd be receiving no refuge from his own bemused mind. He had been hoping for a bit of clarity, but now everything seemed even more muddled than before.

How was he supposed to get answers out of Merlin? Not only was he unconscious, but more often than not, trying to get a straight answer out of him was like trying to break down a wall with a twig. Merlin was good at talking a lot without actually saying anything, especially when there was something Arthur wanted to know. What if this time wouldn't be any different? What if he refused to answer? What was he supposed to do then? Sure, he could always try commanding him to, but the boy rarely did as he was told, and, well…after all he'd been through, if Merlin _did_ choose not to answer, Arthur wasn't sure if he'd have the heart to force him.

With a deep and rather put-upon sigh, the prince slumped against the wall and resigned himself to a long and more than likely very frustrating wait.

* * *

After putting away what was left of his supplies and disposing of the parts that were no longer useful, Owyn made his way through the halls in search of his co-conspirator. There were some things he needed to tell him, and they needed to start coming up with a new plan fast, because whatever Barragh's intentions were for their favorite prisoner, they obviously weren't going to be anything good. The two of them needed to find a way to fix this before things got any worse.

Unfortunately, it was already too late for that.

The moment he stepped out into the main hall, two hands fell on his shoulders, and before he could even figure out what was going on, his arms were seized and restrained.

"What?"

He glanced to both sides, seeing two faces he knew quite well, and for the life of him he couldn't understand what they were doing. He tried to break their holds, but it was two against one, and even though he was far from weak, strength was definitely not his greatest feature. No matter how he struggled, he couldn't get free, and the more he tried, the harder they held on.

"What do you think you're doing?" he yelled. "Let go of me!"

"We can't. We were ordered to detain you."

"What? Why?"

"Barragh wants to see you."

"W-what?"

For just a brief moment, he completely froze, allowing every panicked thought, every moment of fear he had felt in the last month slip through his defenses. Despite all his bravado and the carefree, unconcerned air he often wore, he had long since been dreading a moment like this, knowing in the back of his mind that it had always remained a possibility. With all his sneaking about and attempted subterfuge, it had only been a matter of time before someone noticed, someone who wasn't willing to just turn a blind eye. Somehow Barragh had found out that he wasn't as loyal or as trapped as he had thought (he couldn't think of any _other_ reason that Barragh would want to see him), but what exactly had he learned? There had been so many instances, so many little things here and there over the last month. At what point had he screwed up?

Did Barragh somehow know about the plan to free Merlin, or was this about something else, and if he did know about the plan, then what about Rordan? Was he safe? He had to be, right, because that had always been the plan, that no matter what went wrong, Rordan would take none of the blame. Therefore he had to be alright, and if he wasn't, Owyn would find a way to put everything on himself, because if both of them were caught, then who would be left to help Merlin? Someone had to be around to look after him, now more so than ever.

He was really starting to regret his decision not to tell the other man about what he had learned from Arthur, about the connection between the prince and the warlock. Rordan would have a hard time helping them if he didn't fully understand the situation. He really should have told him when he still had the chance.

However, those were regrets to dwell on another time. He had more important things to worry about.

In the blink of an eye, the fear was gone, and in its place was nothing more or less than pure defiance. Even though he knew it wouldn't do him any good, he struggled against the two guards. It was all in vain though. There was no way he'd be able to overpower them, not when he had already been restrained.

"Damn it, let go of me! I haven't done anything!"

"Do you think we _want_ to do this?" the guard on his right hissed, soft enough not to be overheard by anyone else but filled with an intensity that easily made up for what it lacked in volume. "We're not following orders because we _want_ to. We don't have a choice."

"I'm sorry, Owyn, but we can't let you go."

…Right. They were all technically prisoners, weren't they? Sometimes in the midst of one's own problems it was difficult to remember that there were others who were no better off. It was easy to forget that fear was universal, and all people had something they held dear, something they couldn't bear to lose. What right did he have to ask another to make such a sacrifice when there was nothing he could give up of his own? Other than Arthur, Merlin, and Rordan, there was nothing and no one he held dear, and seeing as how the first two wouldn't be touched and the third was unknown to most, he had nothing hanging over his head, nothing that he could be threatened with.

However, he could still remember the feeling of having his back against the wall, of caring too much, and so he couldn't blame them for their actions. Fighting them was pointless, and so with no way out, he simply gave up and allowed the two guards to escort him down the hall and towards Barragh's office where their master was no doubt waiting. It had been a long time since the two of them had spoken one on one—what a spectacle that had been—and this time there would even be a small audience for the sake of drama.

Oh, this was going to be _fun_.

The two guards dragged him rather unceremoniously down the long stretch of hall and then down a smaller corridor before stopping in front of a set of double doors. Without even bothering to knock, they made their way into the room, and when Owyn came face to face with the last person in the world that he had ever wanted to become acquainted with, he did all he could to keep his thoughts from showing on his face. He didn't want to let Barragh know just how nervous he was, because the man enjoyed playing off of those emotions, exploiting them, reveling in them, and the last thing he wanted to do was give him an even greater advantage than he already had.

It would be better to just act the way he usually did and pretend like he had no idea why he was even there.

"What's the meaning of this, Barragh?" he asked as he was brought before the overbearing lord. "I don't recall having done anything to warrant this kind of treatment."

"Oh, don't you?" the man replied sardonically, clearly not buying it. "I think you know exactly why you're here."

"I'm afraid I haven't the foggiest. Why don't you enlighten me?"

He was expecting the nobleman to get angry, to go into a rage much like he often did when dealing with his men, but instead of that face twisting in anger, it fell into something that was far too smug and knowing. Owyn rather hated that look.

"Very well then," Barragh began, "but first, let me ask you this—how is our young sorcerer fairing?"

"W-what?"

"I trust you went and patched him up for me. After all, he'd be no use to me dead."

"How…?" How had he known? How could he have _possibly_ known that? No one had seen him, not even Rordan, so how could Barragh know that he had just come back from taking care of Merlin? It was impossible.

"Simple," Barragh said as he began to pace the room, hands folded behind his back. "Because I know you. Your actions were predictable."

Some of Owyn's confusion and the slowly building sense of dread must have shown on his face, because before he knew it, Barragh was laughing at him.

"Did you really think I wouldn't find out, that I've been oblivious this whole time? I know that you and Rordan have been taking care of that boy, bringing him extra food, water, blankets, providing him with any extra comfort you can think of, tending to any injury, no matter how minor. Why do you think no one else ever brought his meals? Why do you think _I _never bothered to send anyone to treat his injuries? If you believed that you were doing everything without my knowledge, then surely you must have noticed something as simple as that."

He hadn't. He honestly hadn't; sure, he may have questioned it a few times, but he had often assumed that the other guards just noticed that the deeds were already done or merely figured that the two of them would take care of Merlin and therefore never said anything about it. He had been certain that that was the reason, because nothing else had made _sense_.

…Unless, of course, Barragh had been aware of all of it, everything, from the very beginning.

"Why?" he asked in a voice that shook, feeling far more shaken than he had ever been when dealing with this man. "If you knew, then why?"

"Because I wanted you to."

His eyes widened, his head jerking in the direction that Barragh had been pacing. The man was staring at him with a smirk that could only be described as cruel. It was the look of a man who knew he had won, who had been savoring his victory for a long time, just waiting for the game to finally come to a close. It was the look of a man who had known what the outcome would be long before ever allowing them all to play.

He had tricked them. All the while they had thought they were ahead when he had been stacking the deck the entire time.

"I wanted you to look after him. I _wanted_ you to befriend him, because that way, when you abandoned him, it would _hurt_. I figured that since I couldn't find anyone to use against him, I would simply create someone, but as it turns out, I've come up with a far better idea to break that stubborn little sorcerer. Therefore, you and Rordan are no longer needed."

"What do you mean?" He really didn't like the sound of that.

"I'm saying that I don't need you anymore for this, that your involvement is unnecessary, and whereas I can threaten Rordan to stay away, I get the feeling I've lost my leverage over you. Unfortunately for me, I need you alive, because without you, I lose access to your estate, so I won't kill you. Instead I think I'll have you locked up to pay for some of your _other_ transgressions."

"What? What transgressions?"

"You stole food from my kitchens, and even though I allowed it when it was for the sorcerer, I _never_ gave you permission to take food to the _prince_."

Ah, there was the anger that had been absent for so much of their conversation. He tried not to flinch away as Barragh walked up to him, a look on his face that could kill. Owyn was forced to look up as the mountain of a man glared down at him, his words coming out in a snarled hiss.

"I've given you a great deal of lenience, but if my plan fails because of something _you_ said to him, I will not be so forgiving."

The lord backed up a few steps before signaling to the guards.

"Take him away."

As the two men began to drag him from the room, Owyn forced aside everything that was going through his head—shock, fear, anger, incomprehension, failure—and found his voice long enough to ask one last question, the one thing he desperately wanted to know.

"Barragh, what are you going to do with Merlin?" he demanded, glancing over his shoulder to watch the man as he stood behind his desk, that infuriating smirk back in place. He said not a word in response. All he did was reach for something that was sitting on his desk before holding it up for Owyn to see.

His blood ran cold at the sight.

"But that's… No! You can't!"

"You're in no position to tell me what I can and can't do."

"You'll kill him!"

"His body will endure. The rest of him, well…"

"_Barragh_!"

"I hope you enjoy your stay. Remember to behave yourself, Owyn."

He yelled in frustration, struggling against the two men pulling him along. There was so much more he wanted to say, so many curses he wanted to throw, but in the end they managed to drag him from the room and down the corridor, taking a route that few ever used. It wouldn't do to create a spectacle, and if given half a chance, that's exactly what Owyn would have done. He cursed Barragh the entire way, pulling and digging his feet in, trying to get away even though to do so would have been futile. There was nothing he could do to change the situation, no way for him to fight against it. Everything was falling apart, and there was nothing he could do about it.

The two guards threw him into a cell at the end of a long, abandoned corridor, and by then most of his energy was already spent. Instead he just slumped against the wall and listened as the door was locked with his own set of keys, sealing his fate.

That was it. After all that had happened, they had lost. He had failed. Barragh had fooled them all.

_Damn it…_

How could everything have gone so wrong?

* * *

**A/N:** There you have it :) To everyone who has said they like Owyn, it is thanks to you that I decided _not_ to kill him. As a character who was never in my original planning, it could have gone either way, but I rather like him too, so he gets to live. I did need him out of the way though, and this worked rather well in a lot of ways. Plus it was fun...for me, at least :)

Lots of bad things are about to happen, and I'm certain it'll be either the next chapter or the one after that that will have the magic reveal. Things are going to progress very quickly from here on out.

And thank you again for taking the time to read this, and thanks so much for all the reviews! They always give me something to look forward to when I get home from work, and I've really needed that lately. Christmas time is a nightmare for retailers.

Until next week!


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N:** Greetings! I hope everyone had a lovely Christmas and a happy new year :) Sorry about the lack of update last week, but it was Christmas, my only day off during the week, and I wanted to spend it with my family. I mentioned this in a previous author's note, but if I don't update for some reason, said reason will be posted at the top of my profile page (unless of course I'm incapacitated in some way and therefore am incapable of accessing the internet).

**Title: **Of Twisted Morals and Human Weaponry  
**Author: **BeyondTheStorm  
**Rating: **T for...well, a lot of things. Some language, some violence, the whole general situation, a bit of torture, etc.  
**Characters/pairings:** The cast is as follows: Merlin, Arthur, an antagonist, two guards with names, and a few without. Merlin and Arthur are the main focus of this story. Oh, and no pairings. Only friendship here, though if you want to read more into it, feel free. Whatever floats your boat :)  
**Spoilers: **Um...none, as far as I know.  
**Warnings: **Abuse, a bit of torture, me being descriptive  
**What to expect:** Bromance, introspection, angst, some whump, H/C, lots of drama, lots of worrying...oh, and some magic. Can't forget the magic :)

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Merlin :)

Ah, one quick request. Please, for the love of all that is good, if you have seen the series finale, **do not tell me anything about it.** I haven't watched 12 or 13 yet, as I plan on watching the whole season this weekend with my friends and sister for my B-day. We always get together and watch the newest seasons of both Dr. Who and Merlin during winter break, so please be kind and don't spoil anything for me. I've been trying really hard not to ruin it for myself.

So, anyway, this chapter actually wrote itself a lot more easily than I thought it would...except for that ending. I think it took me a half an hour just to find a way to make it grammatically right while still maintaining the effect I wanted. Sigh... Hopefully it was worth it.

If you see any errors, please point them out and I shall fix them. I was only able to go through this once.

Enjoy!

* * *

CHAPTER 15

It had been three days now. Three days, and Arthur _still_ didn't have a single answer to even one of his many questions. If anything, the pile of things he wanted to know but didn't just kept increasing with each passing moment, and no matter how hard he tried to work things out on his own, nothing ever seemed to add up in a way that made sense. Regardless of how he approached things, he just couldn't piece the situation together. He was missing something big, something important—that one thing that would somehow make everything else fall into place one way or another; he was certain of it.

However, he was no closer to figuring it out than he had been before, especially since his only two sources (three if one felt like including Barragh, but Arthur preferred to only think of him as sword fodder most of the time) were unable to give him any information whatsoever. After all, it was rather hard for him to talk to Merlin when the servant spent most of his time sleeping. Sure, he had always known the boy was a bit lazy, but this was on a whole other level.

Honestly, how could a person sleep for that long without waking up? The only times he had been conscious in the past three days were when a guard would come with food and make him wake up to eat it. Apparently Barragh wasn't sadistic enough to starve his prisoners even though he seemed like the type to do so, though in this case it probably had more to do with the fact that if Merlin didn't eat, there was a good chance that his condition would worsen. Even though it was Barragh's fault that the boy was in such a precarious state in the first place, it was obvious that the nobleman didn't want him to die. You couldn't get anything from a person who was dead, after all.

During those few moments of awareness, Arthur had paid particular attention to his servant without drawing attention to himself. He had learned in that time that it wasn't just Owyn who had a soft spot for the young prisoner. It had been a different guard who delivered each meal, but every one of them remained in order to help the boy get the food into his system. Merlin couldn't move much on his own, not without the risk of tearing open his injuries, so he required help when it came to sitting up enough to eat. He never ate much though, just enough to satiate his hunger without making himself sick to his stomach. He probably would have preferred to eat nothing seeing as how pain was a rather strong deterrent for pretty much everything, including hunger, but Merlin clearly knew better than to starve himself in his condition. Living with a physician certainly had its advantages.

It was a bit strange, really, to watch the guards interact with Merlin, to see how much they hated the situation and how guilty they all looked. Did they blame themselves for what had happened to him? Were they somehow responsible for it? So many times he had wanted to say something, to ask them questions, but he knew he couldn't, not without making them suspicious, because as far as they knew, he and Merlin had nothing to do with each other. Perhaps his queries would be taken as mere curiosity, but he couldn't take the chance that someone might see through and notice the genuine concern that was becoming harder and harder to hide. Even though it was clear that most of the guards didn't like Barragh, he had no way of knowing which of them were trustworthy and which of them weren't. He couldn't take that risk, no matter how badly he wanted answers. He was just going to have to wait until Merlin could either stay awake long enough to hold a conversation or until Owyn came back.

That was another thing that was bothering him. Ever since he was first locked up—which felt like ages ago even though it hadn't even been two weeks yet—Owyn had always made it a habit of visiting him once a day, even if it was just a quick hello. More often than not, he had been the one to bring up his meals, which often led to lengthy conversations. He was also pretty sure that the guard had visited Merlin just as often, if not to bring him food then to help tend his wounds. Now that both of them were locked up next to each other, Owyn had absolutely no reason _not_ to see them since he didn't have to pick between visiting one or the other.

However, that apparently wasn't the case, because ever since he had walked out that first day after tending to Merlin, Arthur hadn't seen hide nor hair of the man. Not once had he stopped by to visit or change Merlin's bandages or bring them food. He just wasn't around. Even though three days wasn't exactly a long period of time and was certainly not enough to justify being worried, the prince couldn't help the slight unease he felt at the thought of Owyn not showing up even once to check on them. Surely the guard wouldn't have just abandoned them, not after everything that had happened. He just wasn't that type of person, but that meant that the only other explanation was that something had happened.

He didn't want to think about it. He already had more than enough things to worry about and far too many unanswered questions. He found himself cursing Owyn for doing this to him when his hands were already full dealing with Merlin and trying to figure out a way for the both of them to escape. He really didn't need someone else to be concerned about. Owyn was supposed to be helping him figure everything out, not creating even _more_ problems.

Arthur was tempted to just ask one of the other guards if they knew anything about the man's sudden disappearance, but he wasn't sure if it would be wise. Showing interest was a dangerous thing. He was better off to appear indifferent, unreadable, because after all those conversations with Owyn, he had learned that Barragh was good at finding weaknesses and using them against you. He also didn't want to get the man in trouble, and if Barragh were to find out what the guard had been up to in regards to both him and Merlin, well…things probably wouldn't end well for him. After everything that Owyn had done for the two of them, the last thing he wanted to do was accidentally sell him out.

What would Barragh do if he found out? After all, he had lost his leverage over the guard, but at the same time that wasn't entirely true, was it, because even though Owyn had stopped caring about his original incentive, he had gained a different one, something that wasn't so easy to let go of. Compassion was both a weakness and a strength; as a prince, Arthur knew that well. Care and compassion, _kindness_, could push a person well beyond their own limits, but those same things could also very easily break that person, make them vulnerable, create weaknesses. As long as a person chose to care, there would always be something they stood to lose. That was just the way it was.

And that was why, no matter how badly he wanted to, he was going to keep his mouth shut. He wouldn't ask questions, wouldn't give anything away. He had to pretend, for all their sakes, that he was detached, indifferent, that his concern didn't go any deeper than the surface. It wouldn't be easy, but he would manage.

Too much was at stake for him not to.

* * *

It was on the fifth day of their joint imprisonment—and by now Arthur was more than ready to smash his head against the wall if it would allow him to just forget about all his unanswered questions—that the situation finally changed. It did so in the form of Merlin actually staying awake. He had been sleeping right up until the point that one of the guards brought their morning meal. Usually he would just go right back to sleeping after finishing it and taking whatever medicine was brought for him, but his time his eyes stayed open. The shadows that had been under them for the past few days were long gone, and even though he was still a far cry from healthy, he certainly looked to be improving. He still couldn't move around too much, but that would be resolved too eventually. He just needed to heal up a little more.

Deciding not to miss out on this opportunity, Arthur moved himself away from the wall and towards the bars that separated their cells. He had no idea how long Merlin's moment of wakefulness would last, so he needed to get some things sorted out while he could. His jumbled up mess of questions and things that didn't add up had only grown larger with each passing day, and so he was more than ready to get some answers. Hopefully his servant would be willing to cooperate for once.

"Merlin," he called, keeping his voice quiet just in case anyone was still lingering out in the corridor. He waited until Merlin managed to shift himself so that he was facing the prince. The boy folded his arms and placed his head upon them as he lay on the ground, still incapable of sitting up for too long on his own.

"What?" he asked back just as softly, though Arthur suspected that part of the reason for that was due to weakness. Merlin hadn't really used his voice in a while other than to mutter a quiet yes or no or to tell a guard "thank you." It had been strange seeing him so silent for so long.

"I was wondering if you could tell me something."

There was a flash of unease in those eyes, one that vanished so fast that Arthur was half-convinced he had only imagined it. However, he wouldn't write it off, not this time, because so much about the situation didn't make sense to him that he needed to make sure to pay attention to everything, however subtle. If there was one thing Merlin was really good at, it was hiding.

"What?" the boy asked again, and Arthur was certain that the word shook a bit as he said it. That alone was proof that he was worried, and that meant that there was something he didn't want to say. Hopefully Arthur would be able to find a way to get it out of him, whatever "it" was. He didn't like the idea of Merlin keeping a secret from him, not when the circumstances were as dire as they were.

Something told him though that getting an answer to his question was going to be anything but easy.

"I want to know what Barragh wants with you. Why is he keeping you here?"

As expected, Merlin kept quiet. He even turned his gaze away, staring instead at the floor. To most people it would probably look like he was trying to come up with an answer—that he was thinking about how to respond because it was a sore topic or something like that—but to Arthur, it looked like he was simply trying to avoid having to answer at all. Unfortunately for him, turning one's gaze away was not an end to a conversation, nor was it any way to answer a question. Merlin wasn't going to be getting away with it this time, because Arthur wasn't going to give up. There was nowhere for either of them to go, no duties to attend to or to interrupt them. His servant couldn't runaway in order to dodge the question, and if he tried to lie, Arthur would be watching for it.

"Well?" he prompted when he didn't get an answer.

"…I don't know."

That was obviously untrue.

"You have to have some idea. He wouldn't be doing this if there wasn't a reason."

Again he received no answer, so he picked a different question, one that he was pretty sure Merlin would be just as likely _not_ to answer.

"Fine then," he began, "if you won't tell me what he wants with you, then tell me how you managed to escape."

"I _didn't_ escape—"

"You know what I mean, _Mer_lin." He wasn't going to put up with it this time. He wouldn't let him deflect or turn Arthur's query into some sort of exasperating argument that would make him forget what he had originally asked in the first place (something else he was infuriatingly good at).

Merlin fell silent for a moment, and when he opened his mouth to speak again, Arthur was quick to cut him off.

"And don't you dare say you don't know," he practically growled, scowling at the surprised servant. Apparently he had guessed right about the excuse Merlin was going to give. "I won't abide being lied to."

Something that looked a lot like guilt but even more like sorrow settled upon that pale face as those blue eyes were once again averted from his own. Part of him was glad that he had managed to call Merlin out on his lie, but the other part was far more focused on trying to understand _why_ he had felt the need to tell one in the first place. If he _was_ somehow able to pick the locks on the cells (however unlikely that seemed), then why lie about it? What could he possibly be hiding that he didn't want Arthur to know? What could be so terrible that it would put that kind of look on his face? What couldn't he tell him?

Perhaps a different approach was necessary.

"Merlin," he began, waiting until he was certain he had his friend's attention before continuing. "Whatever it is, you can tell me. I don't know why you feel the need to hide it, but whatever secret you're keeping, I swear it won't change anything."

"Don't say that."

He almost didn't hear the words, they were spoken so softly. What truly drew his attention was the tone they had been whispered in, something wistful yet somewhat bitter. It was the voice of someone who couldn't afford to get their hopes up no matter how badly they wanted to.

"What?" he asked, confused, because that wasn't what he had been expecting. Trust Merlin to _still_ manage to find a way to throw him off even when all the normal tactics failed.

"Don't say something like that when you don't mean it."

"I _do_ mean it."

"No."

He was beginning to get frustrated. Didn't Merlin know him better by now? Arthur was a man of his word. How could he still not understand something as simple as that after everything they had been through together? What did he want from him, a written oath signed in blood?

"Merlin, whatever it is, I promise it won't change anything. I give you my word."

"You shouldn't make promises if you can't keep them."

"I always keep them."

"You won't that one."

"_Mer_lin!" he practically yelled before reigning himself in, both of them falling silent as they listened to see if anyone was coming, if anyone had been close enough to hear Arthur's outburst. Luckily the halls remained silent—no footsteps, no metal scraping, not even the soft sound of chainmail links when they shifted. Everything around them was quiet, and once Arthur was certain it would stay that way for a while, he took a deep breath and continued on as calmly as he could. "Merlin, please. Whatever it is, you can trust me."

He took another deep breath and prepared himself for what could possibly be one of the most difficult things he would ever do or say. He hated making himself vulnerable, but sometimes it had to be done. Sometimes words were the only way to really get something across, so Arthur did the only thing he could think of: he swallowed his pride.

"You should know by now that you're more than just a servant to me," he said, letting the words come as they would without hesitation, without censor. "I also consider you my closest friend."

Those blue eyes immediately shot up to meet his own, clearly surprised at the admission, and even though the prince felt a little embarrassed about it all, he also couldn't help but feel like he had failed in some way somewhere along the line. Merlin should have already known that, should have realized that Arthur saw him as a friend—his only friend, really—and yet even though it only lasted for a moment, he had been stunned by that word. He _hadn't_ known, not entirely, and when it all came down to it in the end, that was Arthur's fault, because over the course of their odd relationship, the prince had never once used that word—not like that, anyway.

It was true that it was difficult for him to grow close to anyone due to his station. Being a prince automatically separated him from everyone else, and so it was hard to interact with others. His birthright always seemed to get in the way, and yet with Merlin, that had never been an issue. Very rarely did he show respect for Arthur's title. From the beginning, Merlin had always treated him like he would anyone else—like a person instead of a prince. That social barrier just didn't really exist between the two of them unless the situation called for it (or unless Arthur felt like using it to try and get his way, which half the time didn't work). At first it had irritated him, but gradually he had grown to appreciate it and even enjoy it. It was nice to have someone around who treated him like an equal…like a friend.

He trusted Merlin more than he trusted anyone, but it clearly didn't seem to go both ways. Merlin didn't trust him, not completely, and as much as he wanted to be angry over that fact, he instead found himself wondering if there was something he could have done differently in order to earn it. Perhaps if he had treated Merlin more like the friend he was instead of like the servant that he most often times wasn't, things would be different, but because of the way he was raised, the things he was taught, it was difficult for him. Even in this his station interfered.

How could he expect someone to trust him when he continuously blurred the lines between who and what he was?

How could he possibly convince Merlin that he was "Arthur" first and the "crown prince" second? Could he himself even manage such a division?

"…Arthur."

His attention quickly snapped back to his servant only to find that he was once again staring at the floor, avoiding eye contact. However, something seemed a bit different this time. There was still a wariness there that bothered him, but he could see resolve there as well, however fleeting it was.

"Can I ask you something?" he began, and Arthur nodded once in consent before realizing that Merlin wouldn't see him.

"Of course."

He watched as the boy sucked in a deep breath—as deep as he could given his position on the floor—before asking his question.

"What if someone close to you were to break the law? What would you do?"

Arthur blinked in surprise, momentarily lost for words. He certainly hadn't been expecting that.

"You don't have to answer if you don't want to. I was just curious." Somehow he got the feeling that wasn't entirely true.

"I guess it would depend on the law and their reason for breaking it," he said slowly, thoughtfully, all the while trying to figure out where Merlin was going with this and why he was asking. Was it a hypothetical question? It certainly sounded like one (he had gotten rather used to them after spending so much time talking to Owyn). However, he also knew that sometimes a hypothetical question was nothing more than a disguise, a way to get an answer to something without involving yourself.

Which one was it? Just where was he going with this?

"What if it was an unfair law, but it was considered treason to break it?"

"If it was treason, then why would they bother to break it in the first place?"

"What if they couldn't help it? What if they did it to protect someone important, to save lives? What if…what if every breath they took was against the law? What if they were committing treason from the moment they were born?"

"That's…" He wanted to say "impossible." He wanted to tell Merlin that he was being ridiculous, that there were no outrageous, unreasonable laws like that, but he couldn't. He just couldn't, because as much as he wanted to deny it, he knew that there were.

The laws against magic.

Sorcerers were _born_ with magic.

Yes, some of them chose to use their gifts for the wrong reasons, but surely there were just as many who didn't, who wanted nothing more than to live peacefully, to use their skills for the sake of others. In such a vast land full of people, surely there were those with magic who were good. He had had such notions before, however brief, but after being forced to think on it after hearing what Owyn had had to say on the matter—a man who had no magic himself but had seen it used in a variety of ways—he had found himself questioning the very laws he was sworn to uphold. As the prince, he knew his duty, but his heart just couldn't agree.

Where was the justice in executing children, in slaughtering the innocent, in killing someone for protecting the helpless? How could you possibly condemn someone to death from the moment they were born, for the sheer act of existing? Where was the justice in _that_?

As hard as it was to go against his father, to know that just thinking that the laws were unjust and unfair could be considered treasonous, he found that he just couldn't fully agree with them, not anymore.

It suddenly struck him—whether by instinct or something else entirely—that perhaps this really wasn't a hypothetical discussion, at least not in the way he had thought. Perhaps part of it was, but the law that Merlin was referring to _had_ to be the one against magic. He could think of no other law that fit, which meant that the "someone" he kept referring to had to be a sorcerer, or at the very least a person who _knew_ a sorcerer. That part was easy enough to figure out. The real question was _why_ had Merlin asked? What was he trying to get at? If it was all hypothetical, then maybe all he wanted was to hear Arthur's opinion. Maybe Owyn had talked to him about magic as well, but he got the feeling that that wasn't quite it.

Maybe Merlin knew a sorcerer. Perhaps he had met one of the other prisoners and they just happened to have magic. That would certainly make sense. Merlin had been in the castle for over a month, after all, and according to what Owyn had told him, Barragh _did_ have a special interest in sorcerers—

"_What's wrong, Barragh? Having a bit of trouble holding onto your prisoners?"_

"_This one is a special case."_

Wait.

"_You talk as if you know a lot about it."_

"_I do. I've…met a lot of sorcerer while working for Barragh."_

No…

"_So, you wanted to know about what happened earlier? Well, you were right. Barragh gave the order to flog one of the prisoners."_

"_The one who keeps escaping?"_

No, it couldn't be.

"…_I've never really met a sorcerer who wasn't trying to kill or deceive me."_

"_Well, I have. You probably have too, you just don't know it. Magic __can__ be hidden, after all."_

It just _couldn't_ be.

"_What makes him so important?"_

"_He, well… Let's just say that he has a particular set of skills, and he's extremely good at what he does. It isn't a talent you come across very often, and so Barragh decided to keep him. He wants those abilities for himself, and he's determined to make that happen no matter what."_

There was just no way.

"_He sells sorcerers as weapons."_

Surely that was impossible.

"_I only have one. Two, possibly, depending on your answer."_

"_Go ahead"_

It had to be.

"_Is Merlin the prisoner you told me about before, the one who keeps escaping?"_

"_Yes."_

It _had_ to be.

"_You don't understand—it's not that simple! I can't just __tell __you, because I __don't__ know how you'll…!"_

_"I __want__ to trust you, Arthur, but I'm not sure if I can, not with __this__, and there's too much I don't know to even __try__. You're going to find out eventually, but Merlin should be the one to tell you. It isn't my place."_

Something like that—something as _ridiculous_ as that just couldn't happen. It _had_ to be impossible, right?

"_What if someone close to you…"_ It was hypothetical, just an example—a simple question, a way to find out where he stood, what he thought. It had to be, right? Because there was just no way that _Merlin_—

"_What if someone close to you…" _

…Was a sorcerer.

"…_Were to break the law?"_

Right?

"_What would you do?"_

* * *

**A/N:** Well, there you have it. Not a full reveal yet, and not what I originally intended to do, but I know a lot of people wanted Arthur to start putting everything together, so I thought this would be fun (and it was :) The rest of it will happen next chapter, promise. Lots of stuff is about to happen, including Barragh and his plan. It should hopefully be lots of fun (well, for me, anyway).

As always, I want to thank you for all the reviews and all the support. It means a lot to know that so many people enjoy my work, so thank you all for taking the time to read this story each week. I've never gotten this incredible of a response before for anything I've written, so thank you :)

Until next week!


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N:** Hello again! It's me, celebrating my birthday with another chapter :) I'm in a pretty good mood, seeing as how I was serenaded at work today by a couple of my favorite coworkers. I may not always like my job, but I love the people I work with. I don't think I could find a place with a nicer group of people if I tried :)

**Title: **Of Twisted Morals and Human Weaponry  
**Author: **BeyondTheStorm  
**Rating: **T for...well, a lot of things. Some language, some violence, the whole general situation, a bit of torture, etc.  
**Characters/pairings:** The cast is as follows: Merlin, Arthur, an antagonist, two guards with names, and a few without. Merlin and Arthur are the main focus of this story. Oh, and no pairings. Only friendship here, though if you want to read more into it, feel free. Whatever floats your boat :)  
**Spoilers: **Um...none, as far as I know.  
**Warnings: **Abuse, a bit of torture, me being descriptive  
**What to expect:** Bromance, introspection, angst, some whump, H/C, lots of drama, lots of worrying...oh, and some magic. Can't forget the magic :)

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Merlin :)

Anyway, for all who wished me a happy birthday last time, thank you! I had a lot of fun, and I thoroughly enjoyed watching all of Season 5. We all cried, but it was a good kind of sad I think. Merlin has been my favorite show and a big part of my life for the last 3 and a half years, and I'm horrible with endings, so I imagine I'll be feeling it for some time, but I enjoyed every moment. I won't say anything here 'cause I don't want to spoil the end for anyone who hasn't seen it, but I really did like it, every tear-jerking minute of it.

Hope you enjoy the chapter. I had quite a lot of fun writing the first part :) Arthur is just so much fun to play with :)

Onward!

* * *

CHAPTER 16

He wasn't sure how long he sat there, staring at the back of his servant's head. It could have been only a few minutes or a couple of hours, but in the grand scheme of things it didn't much seem to matter, because for Arthur it felt like the world was trying to unravel around him. His thoughts kept going in circles, meshing together, sometimes stopping entirely as if the onslaught was too much for him to handle all at once, but in the end he always managed to end up back at the same place, with just one question.

_Is Merlin a sorcerer?_

Sure, there were variations of it, but the basis of the question was still the same. It all just led back to that one word that he had always been taught to despise and mistrust, to fear and doubt and hate.

Magic.

Did Merlin have magic?

_No_. No, he couldn't. It was ridiculous to think something like that. Merlin was just a servant with no particularly outstanding skills unless one considered sarcasm, insolence, and not following orders to be talents. He was just a normal peasant from a normal village who came to Camelot one day, challenged him, pissed him off, and then somehow saved his life and was given the "reward" of being his servant (and okay, maybe most of that wasn't exactly "normal," but it certainly didn't scream "magic" either). Surely if Merlin were a sorcerer, none of that would have happened. After all, what kind of sorcerer would come to Camelot willingly other than a vengeful one, which Merlin was most definitely not? Sure, perhaps he didn't know about the laws at the time, but that didn't change the fact that he chose to stay and serve Arthur instead of turning right around and heading back home. What kind of self-respecting sorcerer would do something like that?

Therefore Merlin couldn't be a sorcerer, because honestly, only a complete _idiot_ would—

Oh, wait, but Merlin actually _was_ that, wasn't he? An idiot. He had proven that time and time again and in more ways than Arthur could count. Moments of wisdom and insight aside, the boy really was a fool. He probably would be the type of sorcerer to stay in Camelot and serve in the royal household even with a metaphorical axe hanging over his head…but if Merlin _was_ an idiot, then _surely_ he couldn't have magic. Sorcery took skill and discipline to learn, and where the first was questionable when it came to his servant, the latter was pretty much nonexistent. There was no way he'd be able to stay on task long enough to actually learn magic.

Merlin wasn't a sorcerer, and besides, even if he was somehow capable of using magic, then he was certainly rubbish at it, because there was no way he could _still_ only be a half-decent servant if he could actually use magic. If he did have it, then surely he could use it to do some of his chores (or to make himself less of a clumsy oaf). Seeing as how Merlin still had a habit of messing things up sometimes, then it was unlikely that he was actually capable of using magic, and if he couldn't use it, then he wasn't really a sorcerer (even if by some off chance he _did_ have magic).

Unless, of course, he was just hiding it—unless he had _been_ hiding it the whole time.

But that couldn't be possible either, right? Merlin wouldn't lie to him like that. They were friends, and friends weren't supposed to lie to each other. They were supposed to talk to each other, trust each other, divulge secrets and worries and problems; they were supposed to be honest with each other. That was how friendship worked, and Arthur had done all of those things at one point or another, because he knew that Merlin would tell him the truth, would give an honest opinion, and wouldn't give away his secrets to anyone else. He had thought—hoped—that it went both ways, that his servant knew he could come to him, but he wasn't so sure anymore, and if that was the case, then who was to blame?

Merlin, for accepting too much and not giving enough, or himself, for having too much but not showing enough—whose fault was it? He had thought that Merlin trusted him, but even now there was something he was hiding, something he didn't want Arthur to know, and that bothered him more than he would ever be willing to admit, because if he couldn't even gain the trust of his own servant, then how was he supposed to earn the trust of his people? How could he become the kind of king he wanted to be if his people didn't have faith in him?

Maybe it wasn't his fault. Maybe it was Merlin's. Perhaps Arthur _was_ trustworthy enough, but if that was the case, then that would mean that Merlin was either too much of a coward to give him his trust or that he was purposely trying to deceive him. He didn't really like either of those choices, nor did he really believe them, but at the same time he didn't want to admit that Merlin's lack of trust in him was quite possibly entirely his fault.

Perhaps they were both to blame, somehow.

Assuming Merlin had magic, that is.

The prince wanted to bang his head against the wall or bash it into the bars he was partially leaning against. Pain was a good distraction. It probably wouldn't help him sort his thoughts any, but he was willing to try almost anything at this point, because thinking about it certainly wasn't helping him. He was tempted to just flat out ask the boy whether or not he had magic—whether or not he was a sorcerer—but he got the feeling that if he did, Merlin wouldn't answer. That or he would just lie. Asking Merlin anything outright very rarely got him anywhere, so what good would it do him now?

Oh what he wouldn't give to go back a few minutes—or a couple hours, however long it had been—and just not ask his question or at least un-hear Merlin's. Things would have been so much simpler had he just let everything be instead of allowing his curiosity to get the better of him, because now he knew that his servant was hiding something, that magic was most likely involved in some way, and that no matter how he tried to look at it, Merlin had _lied_ to him. Whether he was a sorcerer or knew one, he had lied, had broken the law…but he didn't know that for sure yet, did he. A part of him continued to cling to that hope, however small.

"…Arthur?"

At the sound of his name, Arthur was pulled from his thoughts only to find that he was no longer looking at the back of Merlin's head. His servant had shifted so that he was facing him, blue eyes guarded and wary but also questioning. He looked like he was waiting for something, and it took the prince a moment to remember that Merlin had technically asked him a question (a whole slew of them, actually, although they all pretty much led back to the same thing). He never did give him an answer, too caught up in his own thoughts and worries, and now he wasn't even entirely sure he _could_ answer it, because in the end he honestly didn't know.

Besides, there was something far more important that needed to be addressed now, and that was whether or not Merlin had magic. Despite his earlier thoughts on the topic, he was starting to think that it would be best to just ask him bluntly and then see what his reaction was. Merlin _was_ a terrible liar, after all, so it wouldn't be hard to find the truth in whatever he chose to say. There was no way he _wouldn't_ end up giving it away, whether through his actions or his words, and if he tried to deflect, Arthur would be ready. This time around, there would be nothing to distract him from getting the answers he wanted. Even if they turned out to be ones he didn't particularly like, at least he would finally have the truth.

He took in a deep breath, composed himself as best he could, and decided to just go for it.

"Merlin," he began, making sure he had his full attention before continuing, "do you have—?"

The sound of a door opening down the hall cut him off. Both of them fell completely silent as they waited and listened, and sure enough the opening of the door was followed by the sound of footsteps. Someone was coming, and they were steadily getting closer. All it took was one glance at Merlin, and he immediately knew who was coming their way. After being locked up for over a month, the boy had obviously learned to differentiate between the steps of those who were welcome and those who weren't. This time around it was the latter. It didn't take a genius to realize what that meant.

He watched as Merlin tried and failed to push himself into a sitting position, obviously not wanting to be on the ground for the impending encounter but still too physically worn out to do anything about it. When he failed a second time, he didn't bother trying again and instead turned to Arthur with a grave expression that almost seemed to border on desperate.

"Arthur," he began, soft but intense, "no matter what happens—no matter what you see or hear, _don't_ do anything, and please…don't think any differently of me."

"What do you—?" Once more he was cut off as the footsteps thundered around the corner, and in a matter of seconds, their owner appeared in the corridor. Arthur turned to glare at the man as he passed by his cell and went straight for Merlin's just like he had the last time. There was a wicked grin on his face, full of superiority and that annoying arrogance that never seemed to fade. Once again the prince found himself thinking of all the things he could do to wipe that aggravating smirk off the man's face.

It wasn't until the door to Merlin's cell was unlocked that Arthur realized there was another person with Barragh, a normal guard by the looks of him. However, the sad, dreadful look on his face was enough to make the prince a little nervous. He clearly knew what his master intended to do and obviously was anything but pleased by it. There was a good deal of sympathy on his face as he looked at Merlin, and Arthur found himself wondering not for the first time just what it was that the servant had done to earn the consideration and care of so many people in such a short amount of time.

As soon as Barragh was inside the cell, the guard closed and locked the door before heading off down the hall to wait until he was needed again, leaving the two of them alone with the crazed weapons dealer. What Arthur wouldn't have given to be in the same cell so he could punch him right in his fat face. The impact would most likely end up breaking his hand or at the very least bruising it, but the pain would definitely be worth it.

"Hello again, boy," Barragh said, greeting Merlin with an even wider version of his normal smirk. Even from his position on the ground, Merlin managed to look just as defiant as ever as he turned his head away without offering a word in return. "Now, now, don't be like that. You should show some gratitude. After all, I gave you time to heal, and far more than I originally intended."

"How generous of you," was the response he got, which earned Merlin a kick to his side though he did his best not to react.

"Well, I see not much has changed. I wonder what it will take to fix that attitude of yours. Perhaps a few more lashings…"

Merlin tried not to flinch at the thought—didn't want to give Barragh the satisfaction of scaring him—but after being flogged twice in less than two weeks, he knew the pain well, and his body tensed up at the thought of more. Even though he couldn't see his captor, he was certain that Barragh was probably grinning at him again, satisfied that his words had had the desired effect. He just hoped that it was only a passing thought and that the man hadn't come down to deliver the five that were owed. That was the last thing he wanted, and not simply because of himself but because of Arthur. He didn't want the prince to see him like that (he wasn't sure if Arthur would keep his promise if he did).

As he lay there, facing away from the weapons dealer, he could hear Barragh moving. His footfalls always seemed loud even when his steps were slow and measured, and Merlin could both hear and feel them getting closer until the man was right in front of him. He tried to turn his head away, not wanting to face him, but before he could even move, Barragh lowered himself to one knee and crouched down, placing a firm hand on the warlock's shoulder to keep him still. Merlin had no choice but to meet those dark eyes and that amused grin.

"Never mind," he said, brushing off his previous threat as his expression fell into something even crueler. "I have something far better in mind."

Carefully and deliberately, Barragh began to reach for a pouch at his side, making sure that Merlin could see every motion he made. The warlock watched, trying not to let his apprehension show, although he figured it was probably a little too late for that. The man pulled open the pouch and reached inside, grabbing whatever was there before slowly drawing it out. Whatever it was couldn't be very big given the size of the bag, which made him wonder what it could be—not a whip, obviously, which helped relieve some of his anxiety at least.

Barragh finally pulled out the lone object he had brought, and in the end, Merlin found himself wishing that it _had_ been a whip. In his captor's hand was a single metal band not unlike the one he already wore, but the two were vastly different. The moment it left the confines of its bag, he was able to feel it, to sense the magic within it, and the pull it created was painstakingly familiar.

"Do you know what this is?"

Yes, he did, though he wished he didn't. That was the thing that had been used to draw him out of Camelot and into the woods. That little band of metal was what had gotten him into this whole mess in the first place, but this time around it felt different. Before, he was able to feel it calling to him, pulling at his senses and his magic, drawing it all to the surface. It had invoked a sense of power, but not anymore. Now all he felt when being in its presence was a growing sense of pure dread, because he could _feel_ it. He could feel the natural magic of it tugging at him, pulling, trying to reach for something that he himself couldn't find. It was trying to call to him, but his magic had been pushed so far down into his being that to draw it up again would probably be excruciating. Even now he could feel his core tightening, pulling, stretching until it almost hurt as his magic tried to respond while all the while being shoved down by the band he already wore.

It hurt. Just being near it _hurt_, and if Barragh intended to put it _on_ him, then…

As much as he wanted to remain calm and not give his captor the satisfaction of seeing him come apart, Merlin couldn't keep himself from panicking. He tried to pull away despite his body's exhausted protests, but Barragh's grip only tightened on his shoulder, keeping him exactly where he was.

"So, you do remember it. That's right, _this_ is what got you in trouble in the first place. I wonder what would happen if we put it on…" He began to bring the metal band closer to the warlock, and Merlin tried his hardest to pull away, to move, because the closer that thing got to him, the more it hurt.

He didn't want to beg or plead or give any sign whatsoever of weakness or fear, but at the same time he couldn't help it, because the last thing he wanted was to be anywhere near that little piece of metal.

"No," he whispered, knowing that his voice had betrayed him, that he sounded desperate, but at that moment he didn't care. He just wanted the band gone.

"Oh?" Barragh queried, his tone amused as he huffed a laugh, deep and mocking. "Are you scared, boy?"

He brought it even closer, and the sharp tug Merlin felt on his magic along with the stabbing pain that came with it was enough to give him a burst of strength that would have been impossible otherwise. With one quick, violent jerk he managed to pull away from Barragh and back himself up against the wall of his cell. He pressed himself into the corner, as far away from his captor as possible, his eyes wide and locked onto the magical artifact he held. Barragh's grin only widened as he got to his feet and began to walk over, and Merlin realized belatedly that this time he didn't have anywhere to run to. He wouldn't be escaping the man a second time.

"So," he began, letting the word hang for a moment until he stopped right in front of the warlock, "now that you know what I have in mind and what I'm capable of doing to you, let me ask you once more. Will you submit to me? Will you give me your loyalty?"

He swallowed thickly, trying to force the discomfort and the fear down so that he could say what he wanted to say. After all this time, Barragh should have known the answer. No matter how terrified he was, it wouldn't change.

"Never. I would rather die."

He would rather condemn himself than serve such a monster.

A hand shot out and grabbed his arm, the one without the magic-suppressing brace. He tried to pull away, but Barragh was far stronger, and before he could do anything, the sleeve of his shirt was torn to just above his elbow.

"So be it," the man snarled. "By the time I'm done with you, you'll be begging for a death that will never come."

Without another word and before Merlin could do anything other than open his mouth, Barragh snapped the brace around his arm.

There weren't words to describe the feeling that flooded through him, spreading to every inch of his body. Perhaps a more articulate person could have likened it to something more descriptive, more accurate, but all Merlin knew was that it felt like he was being torn apart. There was no other way for him to explain it. His magic, which had been buried deep within him after his overuse of it when he had tried to escape, was being forced to the surface, pushed throughout his body while at the same time another force was attempting to temper it, push it down, suppress it. The constant push and pull happened so quickly and so consistently that it felt like someone was trying to pull him apart from the inside.

So really, it was only natural that when he tried to keep himself from screaming he failed spectacularly.

He wasn't sure if he was hearing things or not (it was kind of hard to hear much of anything over his own voice), but it sounded like someone was yelling, someone who wasn't him. Had he been able to comprehend anything around him other than the searing agony spreading throughout his body, he probably would have recognized the voice.

There were only three of them there, after all.

"Stop! What the hell are you doing to him? Stop it! Damn it, just _stop_!"

Arthur could admit that he had no idea what was going on. He could admit to not understanding half of what Barragh had said to Merlin as well as why his servant had suddenly looked so terrified upon seeing what looked like a mere bracelet. He had no idea what it was or what it was meant to do or why any of this was happening in the first place, but the one thing he _did_ understand was what he was seeing before him.

This was a hundred times worse than any flogging could ever be. He was pretty sure that he had never heard someone scream like that. The moment the metal had touched his skin, Merlin's eyes had gone wide, his whole body freezing for barely a moment before he collapsed to the floor in what could only be described as indescribable agony. His fingers were curling against the stone floor, trying to find purchase, to grasp something as his back arched off the ground.

Maybe Arthur _didn't_ know why it was happening, but it _was_ happening, and it only took him a second to completely disregard his earlier promise. He had tried keeping quiet, feigning indifference, but this was too much. He couldn't take it. He didn't care if Barragh somehow found out about them anymore, didn't care if the connection was made, because he just _couldn't_ do it. There was no way in hell he was going to just sit back and pretend that he was unaffected by something as inhumane and malicious as this.

"_Stop it_!" he yelled as loud as he could, and this time Barragh glanced back, acknowledging him before moving towards Merlin. With just a few quick touches to the brace, it snapped open, and the moment it was removed, its victim collapsed, gasping for breath and looking like every last bit of energy had been drained from him.

"Oh, my apologies, sire," Barragh said, his tone fake and mocking. "Was that a little too much for you?"

"What the hell did you do to him?"

"My, my, you certainly do seem angry. I was merely teaching him his place. Isn't that what you do to those who defy you?" He reached down as if he was about to grab Merlin's arm again, but Arthur had had more than enough of this.

"Leave him alone!"

"Why should I? What does it matter to you? This boy has nothing to do with you, princeling…or have you somehow grown fond of him too?"

Arthur gripped the bars that separated him from the other cell until he could feel the metal digging into his palms. What he wouldn't give for just a single bout of superhuman strength so that he could pry the bars apart and launch himself at the smug man beyond them. His anger was clearly giving him away, which only seemed to make Barragh's grin grow smugger.

"That's it, isn't it. How amusing… To think that someone like you would actually come to care about a creature like this."

"What?" Just what was he saying? Why had he suddenly referred to Merlin like that, as if he wasn't even human, as if he were some kind of monster?

"Arthur Pendragon, crown prince of Camelot, do you have any idea just what this boy is capable of? Do you even know what this poor excuse for a human truly is?"

From his place on the ground, Merlin's eyes suddenly went wide. He nearly choked on the breath he tried to take before he began to force his body to move, to turn over so that he could see what was going on, so that he could try and stop what he knew was about to happen.

_No, not like this._ He needed to do something. He couldn't let this happen. _I don't want him to find out like this!_ He tried to find his voice, but no words would come, and when he finally managed to turn himself so that he could see the prince, he found that he couldn't draw his attention. Arthur was fully focused on Barragh and what the man was saying.

This wasn't good. He was supposed to tell Arthur, not anyone else. Before they had been interrupted, he had resolved himself to finally telling the truth, because he had known that if he didn't, someone else would. However, he had been too scared to just say it outright, too afraid of what Arthur would do, too terrified of being hated, and now it was too late. Barragh was going to tell him, and then Arthur would know that he had lied, that he had _been_ lying ever since the day they met.

Arthur would know that he was a sorcerer, that he had magic, and that by the laws of Camelot, he shouldn't be allowed to live. He would find out that Merlin had betrayed him. Even though Arthur had called him a friend, would that be enough to weather something as great and as jarring as this?

"Do you want to know, princeling, how he managed to escape from his cell, not once but _eight_ times? Do you want to know why I've kept him when he doesn't seem worth the trouble?"

"Barragh," Merlin called out breathlessly, his voice failing him as he tried to push himself to his hands and knees only to collapse onto his stomach. Everything still felt like it was on fire, especially his back from where his wounds had been pulled and stretched. He could still feel his magic too, trying to settle itself from the onslaught it had suffered, and the feeling of it churning was enough to make him feel sick.

However, he had to do something. He couldn't go down without a fight.

"Well, I'll tell you."

"Don't…" He tried one more time to say something, to stop the lord from saying the one thing he didn't want him to, the one thing that was his and his alone—his power, his life, his secret to tell or to keep—but it didn't matter. There was nothing he could offer, nothing he could do to earn the man's silence aside from the one thing he _never_ would. For as long as there was still life in his body, he would remain loyal to Arthur and to Camelot, no matter what. He would never allow Barragh to take that from him.

As he tried to push himself up one more time, he felt a hand wrap around his upper arm and pull him up to his knees. Finally he was able to really see Arthur, to look into that familiar, angry, worried face, and he wondered if this would be the last time he'd ever see it like that—if this would be the last time that his friend would ever look at him so openly and with such concern again.

He prayed it wouldn't be. He hoped that they could get past this, somehow, because he was certain that he would rather die than lose his greatest friend. The thought of Arthur hating him, of never trusting him again, of wanting nothing more to do with him was a hundred times more painful than anything Barragh could do to him.

"This boy…"

His captor pulled him up just a little more, enough to make it hurt, before he pushed the sleeve of his shirt down past his elbow, revealing the brace that was there, that had been a part of him for over a month.

The runes etched on the metal were glowing gold.

"…Is a sorcerer. Magic flows through his veins just as naturally as blood."

There was no getting out of this. As much as he wanted to, there was no way to go back.

"He's a living weapon."

_I'm sorry, Arthur. I wanted to tell you. I'm sorry…_

"And he's _mine_."

* * *

**A/N:** Arthur's reaction to all this will come next time, promise, since I know his is the one we all really want, right? But anyway, I hope you enjoyed the chapter :) For all who were interested in the answer, _this_ chapter was originally how I had intended for Arthur to find out. What happened last chapter was more of a spur of the moment decision, though I do like it better this way, because now it won't be quite as sudden of a shock for him. He had already been playing around with the idea, and now it's just being confirmed. That doesn't mean it'll be easy for him though :)

Anyway, as always, thank you so much for all the reviews! You guys always make my week, and you never cease to amaze me with all the wonderful comments. Honestly, I never expected so many people to like this, and I'm continuously blown away. I hope I can continue to meet your expectations. Thank you so much for taking the time to read my fic, and even if I can't thank everyone individually, know that I really do appreciate it. Feel free to drop a review, but don't feel obligated :)

Until next week!


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N: **Hello. It's late, I'm tired, so I'm gonna keep this short today...or try to.

**Title: **Of Twisted Morals and Human Weaponry  
**Author: **BeyondTheStorm  
**Rating: **T for...well, a lot of things. Some language, some violence, the whole general situation, a bit of torture, etc.  
**Characters/pairings:** The cast is as follows: Merlin, Arthur, an antagonist, two guards with names, and a few without. Merlin and Arthur are the main focus of this story. Oh, and no pairings. Only friendship here, though if you want to read more into it, feel free. Whatever floats your boat :)  
**Spoilers: **Um...none, as far as I know.  
**Warnings: **Abuse, a bit of torture, me being descriptive  
**What to expect:** Bromance, introspection, angst, some whump, H/C, lots of drama, lots of worrying...oh, and some magic. Can't forget the magic :)

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Merlin :)

Anyway, this chapter turned out way different than I had planned (angsty chapter is angsty)...which actually isn't that strange, because that's pretty much half of everything I write. It was originally going to include another scene, but that would have made it way too long, and I ran out of time. Besides, I liked this ending way better, and that way I can throw in both of the scenes I really want to write into the one next week :)

Been listening to "Time of Our Lives" by Tyrone Wells. There's a Merlin music video for it on youtube, which I highly recommend to all who have seen season 5. It's dedicated to all the Merlin fans. It's beautiful, and it nearly made me cry.

So, while editing, I added about a page worth of text, so if I made any mistakes, please let me know, 'cause I didn't read it through a second time.

Onward!

* * *

CHAPTER 17

_Sorcerer._

It was a lie, right? That's all. Nothing more than a trick, an act, a way for Barragh to mess with them, to pull them apart, to damage everything further—that _had_ to be it, right? The man was insane, after all, because honestly, who in their right mind would look at Merlin and think "sorcerer" of all things? There was absolutely no correlation between the two; nothing about him screamed "magic" or "powerful" or anything else along those lines. It was hard enough to relate a word like "servant" or "competent" with the boy, let alone a word as ridiculous and powerful as "sorcerer."

Therefore it had to be a lie. _All_ of this was just some grand lie that Arthur had been tricked into contemplating, that he had been reading too far into (Merlin's earlier question was _hypothetical_, surely, because it _couldn't_ be anything else). It was all just a trick, a lie, right?

…Except it wasn't. It really, really wasn't, and he couldn't keep fooling himself into thinking otherwise. In any other situation, he probably would have laughed at such an accusation—had done, actually—but not this time, because nothing about the situation was even remotely funny. This wasn't some joke, something said without thought or without proof. Barragh was serious. He was grinning like he had just won, as if he had struck a mortal blow to an enemy long sought dead. There was a malicious sort of glee there, a desire to hurt and ravage and break. He wasn't just spouting words to get a reaction, to tear apart a bond he believed to only be a few days old. He seemed to believe that his revelation was the final hit, the last strike, that with those words everything would either begin or end, and that no matter the outcome, he would still be standing at the top of it all.

No, there was no lie in those words. Before him was nothing more than the truth, the last piece to a puzzle he should have figured out long ago.

He wanted to pretend this wasn't happening. He wanted to look at Merlin and just laugh it all off, maybe even congratulate him on pretending so well or perhaps just yell at him for being an idiot and getting himself mistaken for a sorcerer. He wanted to ask him if it was true and hear him say that it wasn't, followed by some long, bizarre explanation that would be farfetched and ridiculous but that Arthur would believe anyway because he was _Arthur_ and this was _Merlin_, and he _trusted_ Merlin, and…

And even though it would be full of holes and full of lies, constructed in such a way that a simple prod in the right place would send it all crashing down, he would accept it, because it was easier, because he didn't have the time or the patience to sift through the rubble to find the truth. Accepting was easier, simpler, but it wasn't _just_ that. He knew that there was more to it, because he was certain that had it been down to just his own carelessness, his own lack of insight and patience, then it wouldn't feel like someone was crushing his chest, pressing down on his heart and lungs until he could barely breathe.

No, it _wasn't_ just that he hadn't tried to find the truth. It was that he hadn't wanted to, hadn't felt the need to, because after everything they had been through, he had wanted to believe in Merlin, to trust him in a way he had never been able to trust anyone else before. He had wanted to believe that even though Merlin hid things and didn't always tell the full truth, he was still someone who could be trusted with the important things, the kind of things you tell a friend. He had wanted to believe that that sentiment, that level of trust and confidence went both ways, that if there was ever something important, Merlin would tell him.

It seemed that was all just wishful thinking.

In the end, Merlin really _hadn't_ trusted him, and the part of him that still wanted nothing more than to deny it all, to pretend that that just wasn't the case, to laugh this all off and act like nothing had changed found itself fading away the moment he looked at the supposed sorcerer. He had expected to see fear there and perhaps a bit of desperation, eyes begging for him not to believe Barragh, not to listen to the words of a madman, a silent plea for help and assurance, but what he found there wasn't just fear and desperation but guilt—a remorse so heavy and so deep that it looked like his whole body was crumpling under the weight of it. Those blue eyes were sad and pleading, but he _wasn't_ begging for Arthur _not_ to believe Barragh, wasn't begging for trust.

No. He was seeking forgiveness. The only thing he could read on that face was the simple phrase "I'm sorry, please forgive me," and a person only ever sought forgiveness when they believed they had done something wrong.

There was nothing there that denied or renounced the claim that had been made.

This time around, there was no pretending that what he had heard and the conclusion he had drawn was anything other than the truth.

Merlin was a sorcerer.

He had magic.

Merlin had _lied_. He hadn't _trusted_ him, and if that was the case, then how much of their time together, of the things they had gone through together did Arthur only know the half of? How much had Merlin kept from him, hidden from him, lied to him about? How much was a mere fabrication, a shadow of the truth? If he hadn't been able to see something like _this_ in his servant, then what else had he missed? If Merlin had magic and had been practicing it all this time, then what had he been using it for? Why? For what end, what purpose? What did he hope to accomplish by practicing magic in Camelot? Was he just _that_ much of an idiot? Why hadn't he _said_ anything? Did Merlin truly _not_ trust him?

How much of it was true and how much was a lie? Where was the line between the two? More importantly, how could he ever know the truth when there was no way to know whether it would only be yet another lie? How do you repair something as important and fragile as trust after it shatters?

Had he not been raised as a prince and therefore immune to things as shameful as hysterics, he might have started laughing at the place his thoughts had taken him. He was the son of Uther Pendragon, the king who persecuted magic and its followers, who executed sorcerers without thought or fair trial, and yet the law against magic was the last thing on his mind. It should have been the first, and yet it hadn't even crossed it. Strange how in the end it wasn't so much the magic that bothered him (even though it did, because how could it _not_) but the fact that Merlin had spent months and months on end lying to him, hiding from him, keeping secrets while Arthur had spent the same amount of time confiding most of his. It seemed that in the whole of their friendship, nothing had gone both ways.

He couldn't help but wonder how many times Merlin had used magic behind his back or even right in front of him without him ever noticing. Had he thought it was funny? Had he been laughing behind Arthur's back the entire time, laughing at his ignorance, his inability to see, his almost blind trust in a friend that he had thought he knew but obviously hadn't?

He wanted to ask. He had hundreds of questions, hundreds of accusations, so many things to say, and yet for some reason, all he could do was stand there and stare like some gobsmacked fool who had just been told that the sky really wasn't blue after all. It felt a bit like the world was coming down around him, because in all honesty, if Merlin of all people had kept something like this from him, then what else was he missing? Who else was lying to him? What more couldn't he see?

Amidst the chaos that was his heart and mind, the jumble of thoughts and emotions that threatened to crush him, nothing hurt more than the sharp sting of betrayal he felt at the thought that Merlin, his best friend—his _only_ friend—had lied to him.

What was he supposed to do now?

"My, my, that certainly is an interesting expression, Prince Arthur," he heard Barragh say, but he found that he couldn't quite focus nor could he bring himself to look away from his servant even though Merlin no longer seemed able to look at him. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you look as if you've just lost a friend."

Yes…perhaps he had.

"To think that even for a moment you actually sympathized with a sorcerer. What would your father say? Though I suppose I can't blame you. He certainly doesn't fit the picture of a powerful warlock, does he?"

No, he really didn't.

"I wonder how many other people he's managed to deceive. Masquerading like someone normal, someone ordinary, when all the while he has enough magic to raze a kingdom to the ground. To think that he was living in Camelot of all places… I wonder how many have had to die over the years just so he could keep his secret."

Arthur didn't say anything. He couldn't. There were no words he could use, nothing that would be adequate to express what was going through his head, his heart.

Never before had he felt so lost.

"I think he needs to be punished, don't you?"

When Arthur didn't say anything, didn't raise his head, didn't even acknowledge that he was being spoken to, Merlin finally found the courage to look up once more, meeting the prince's gaze head on. He almost turned away again at the sight of so much pain, so much disbelief and betrayal. He hated it. This was why he had never said anything before, why he had kept his magic a secret. He couldn't stand to see that expression, to be looked at with so much hurt and accusation. He had never wanted to put Arthur in this kind of position, to put _that_ kind of look on his face. It wasn't fair to him, to either of them.

He couldn't help but wonder if things might have turned out differently had he been able to tell the prince himself, if the words had been his own. Perhaps if Merlin had only had the strength of mind to say something before Barragh arrived, they wouldn't be in this mess. It was a bit too late for that though, wasn't it. Even though he had been given the chance to say it, to finally tell Arthur the truth, he had hesitated. Even though he had known that this would eventually come, that if he didn't say something, Barragh _would_, he still hadn't been able to say the words. He hadn't been fast enough, hadn't been brave enough.

If only he had had more time.

He wanted to tell Arthur everything, wanted to tell him that he had had magic from the day he was born, that he had never had a choice, that yes, he was powerful, but he would never use that power for his own gain, would never use it to hurt someone or bring misery to Camelot. He wanted to tell him about all that had happened since the day he arrived in Camelot, about the dragon and the prophecy, about their destinies, and above all else he wanted to tell him that even without some grand legacy, some bright future hanging in the balance, he would still serve him, still protect him, because Arthur _wasn't_ just his prince, his future king.

Above everything else, Arthur was his friend, and whether he wanted it or not, he had his loyalty. Even without a destiny, his magic and his life were for Arthur, and nothing would ever change that.

However, he couldn't say anything. No matter how badly he wanted to, he couldn't, because if he said anything at all, anything to explain himself, Barragh would _know_. He would know that Arthur was someone important to him, that he could be used to get to the warlock, to control him. To try and justify himself to the prince would be to place him in danger, and he had decided long ago that given a choice between his own life and Arthur's, he would always choose the latter. No matter what sacrifices he had to make, so long as Arthur was safe, that was all he needed. Even if it meant a fate worse than death, he would endure it, because everything he was was for Arthur.

But still…still, he had to say something, _anything_, because he couldn't stand to see that look on the prince's face. He didn't want him to think that everything had been a lie. After all the things they had been through together, he just couldn't let it end like this.

"Arthur…" he whispered, trying to get the prince's attention, because even though he was staring directly at the warlock, his gaze wasn't focused. It hadn't been ever since the word "sorcerer" had left Barragh's mouth.

However, at the sound of his name, Arthur's attention flickered back into place, the haze of shock finally lifting, and for just a moment their eyes met—two shades of blue staring back at each other, unguarded and vulnerable with everything on the line and nothing left to hide. Merlin tried to pour everything he could into that one moment, to say everything he wanted to without saying anything at all. He just wanted Arthur to know that he was sorry, that he hadn't meant to lie, that he _wanted_ to be able to trust him with everything but had been too afraid to take that risk, to lose everything and everyone he cared about for something as selfish as being recognized. It just wasn't worth it—and he knew that keeping a secret could be seen as selfish too, no matter how selfless the intent, because the two were exact mirrors of each other, opposite but equal in every measure. He had long ago learned that humans were selfish by nature, and in the end, he was no exception.

It would be a lie to say he didn't want to be known, didn't want to be seen for who and what he really was, but he didn't need to be, not in that way, because there were so many things that were more important, so many things that were far more precious to him. He would gladly give up every ounce of magic he had if it meant saving the people he loved, keeping them safe from all that would do them harm. That was all he needed, all he would ever need, and he did everything he could to convey that simple truth to the one person who meant more to him than anything.

…But not even a second later, Arthur looked away. He turned his head and cast his eyes to the ground, hurt and anger warring with equal vigor upon his face, and no matter which one won, the result would be the same. When it came to Arthur, they were nothing more than another side to the other. Regardless of which persevered, the look of betrayal in his eyes wouldn't change.

"Arthur—"

A sharp tug on his arm cut him off as Barragh pulled him back just enough so that he was sent sprawling on the floor, no longer able to remain kneeling. The man crouched down in front of him, his grip so tight around his wrist that it would surely bruise later. Usually Merlin would resist in some way, either physically or with a few barbed words, but he didn't have the energy or the state of mind for either, and Barragh obviously knew that. The grin on his face was pleased and condescending, cruel and amused in a way that only a man as twisted and arrogant as he could manage.

"Do you know what this means, boy?" he asked in a low voice meant only for the warlock but not quiet enough to not be overheard. It didn't much matter anymore. The prince wasn't paying attention, and there was nothing left to hide from him anyway. "I know you know who this man is—probably not a sorcerer in the land who doesn't recognize the Pendragons. He knows what you are now. If you return to Camelot, you'll be hunted down and beheaded, or maybe even burnt at the stake. Do you understand, sorcerer? Even if you do escape, you'll have nowhere to go. You can _never_ go back to Camelot. You'll never be _free_."

Ah…so that _had_ been his plan after all, the reason that he had put them next to each other. He had intended to take his home away from him by revealing him as a sorcerer to the prince of Camelot. After all, the Pendragons were known for their ruthlessness when it came to magic.

In a pique of hysteria that thankfully passed as soon as it surfaced, he wasn't sure whether he should laugh or cry at the irony of it all. Barragh truly had no idea just how much damage he had truly wrought with that revelation. He had wanted to steal Merlin's home away from him, but in the end he had stolen something so much more than that, had shattered something that was possibly beyond repair. A home was nothing without people to come back to, and Barragh had just stripped away his most precious bond, the very person who had given his life and his magic a purpose. Without Arthur, without his friend, Camelot would never truly feel like _home_ again.

He needed to talk to Arthur. He _needed_ to. Even if the prince wasn't willing to listen, Merlin still needed to say the words. As soon as Barragh took his leave, he would tell him everything, and he meant _everything_. After being left alone in the dark for so long, the prince had a right to know.

However, it seemed that he wouldn't be getting that chance. In hindsight, he should have been expecting it. After all, things very rarely ever went the way he wanted them to.

As Barragh slowly got back to his feet, he gave a short whistle to call the guard back to unlock the door. However, even after the door was opened for him, his hand remained locked around the warlock's wrist like a shackle. If anything, his grip seemed to grow a little tighter. Usually by now he would have let go, maybe given him a kick or a shove for good measure followed by a few parting words that would be nothing short of a not-so-concealed threat. Unfortunately, that wasn't the case this time. Instead when he started moving towards the door, he dragged Merlin along with him.

"Come on, get up," he commanded, tugging the warlock into a semi-standing position. He bit down on his lip to keep silent, cringing at the sharp stab of pain as his wounds were stretched; this was the first time he had been on his feet since he was flogged the second time, and his body was none too happy about it. His legs felt like they could buckle at any moment, and if not for the large hand holding him up, he was pretty sure he would have fallen flat on his face right after being forged to stand.

With the help of the guard (the poor man looked like he would rather be anywhere else at that moment, and Merlin certainly didn't blame him for it), Barragh was able to drag him out of the cell and into the corridor.

"I think a change of scenery is in order," the tyrant said, a wide smirk on his face, those dark eyes glinting. "Allow me to personally show you to your new cell."

Strangely enough—and it was truly a testament to how long he had been imprisoned there if _this_ was how his mind worked—his first thought upon hearing those words was something along the lines of "why, it's not like I've tried to escape yet."

His second, however, was vastly different.

_New cell? But that would mean… No_. _No, he can't…Arthur…!_

He couldn't…he just _couldn't_! If Barragh took him away, if he separated them, then Arthur—_Arthur_ would…

Arthur would be left there, alone, with no answers, no comfort, believing that Merlin had betrayed him, that he was just another sorcerer—not a friend, not anything, just a traitor. If they were separated, then he would never be able to tell Arthur the truth, to try and fix the damage that Barragh had caused. If he left now…

"No…"

He might never see Arthur again.

"No, stop!"

He couldn't let that happen.

"Come on," Barragh said as he began to drag him away from the cell and down the corridor. Merlin tried to struggle, to pull away, but his body was still too weak and Barragh was more than twice his size. There would be no getting away, not without magic, and that wasn't an option.

"No!"

He turned to the prince, eyes pleading even though he knew nothing could be done. Still, he wanted to try. He would do everything he could to keep it from ending like this.

"Arthur."

All he wanted was one moment of acknowledgement, just one sign that the prince didn't hate him, that all wasn't lost, that the bond between them was stronger than even this. That was all he wanted, all he needed, because with just that he'd be able to find the strength to endure whatever Barragh put him through. As long as he had hope, he could withstand anything.

"Arthur!"

But the prince didn't look back at him, didn't raise his head. There was nothing to show that he had even heard the warlock calling to him. He just stood there, hands locked around the bars that separated the two cells, eyes on the ground, unfocused and lost. Even as Merlin was being dragged away, past the door of his cell, he didn't move.

"_Arthur_!"

He didn't do anything. Even if the prince had looked up at him in hate, that would have been fine; he could work through that. Animosity was at least a form of acknowledgement, something that could be felt, and he would have settled for that if nothing else, because it meant that there was still _something_ there, even if it was something that needed to be fixed. However, there was just nothing. In the end, Arthur did nothing, and there wasn't anything in the world that could hurt more. Perhaps some would disagree, but to be regarded with nothing more than apathy, to be treated as if you weren't there—unseen, unacknowledged… He would have accepted hate over something as cold and heartbreaking as this any day.

Would he ever get the chance to fix this?

Could it even _be_ fixed?

Would Arthur even let him try?

It didn't much matter, did it. No matter what, things could never go back to the way they were before. Words could never be taken back, and knowledge could never be unlearned. There was always a price. Perhaps this was his.

With no strength left to resist and not enough resolve to even try, Merlin was dragged down the corridor, away from his cell and away from Arthur. He didn't know where they were taking him

He was no longer sure he even cared.

* * *

**A/N:** So, a bit more angst than I had originally intended, but it felt right. Don't worry, Arthur will snap out of it next chapter. He's just got a lot going through his mind right now. If all goes well, the next chapter will involve the two scenes that pretty much spawned this story as well as the title. I'm super excited for it, and I plan on starting earlier in the week so I can definitely fit in everything I want to without running out of time next Tuesday night. Should be fun :)

As always, thanks for all the wonderful support. I'm glad you're still enjoying this fic :) We're getting pretty close to the end now, I think (never know with me. It's already gotten way longer than I thought it would). Please feel free to drop a review to tell me what you think, but don't ever feel like you have to. I'm just glad there are people reading this :)

Anyway, that's all for now. Until next week!


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N:** So...it turns out I was wrong (again. What else is new). This chapter actually only has _one _of the two scenes that started this fic. Ironically, even though it's not the scene that the story is mostly based upon, it is the one that spawned the majority of the scenes throughout this fic. There's a rather long tale behind that, but seeing as how it's long and I don't think most people would be all that interested, I won't bother going into it here :) Besides, it's rather late, and I have to go to work in the morning...sigh. Thank goodness for caffeine.

**Title: **Of Twisted Morals and Human Weaponry  
**Author: **BeyondTheStorm  
**Rating: **T for...well, a lot of things. Some language, some violence, the whole general situation, a bit of torture, etc.  
**Characters/pairings:** The cast is as follows: Merlin, Arthur, an antagonist, two guards with names, and a few without. Merlin and Arthur are the main focus of this story. Oh, and no pairings. Only friendship here, though if you want to read more into it, feel free. Whatever floats your boat :)  
**Spoilers: **Um...none, as far as I know.  
**Warnings: **Abuse, a bit of torture, me being descriptive  
**What to expect:** Bromance, introspection, angst, some whump, H/C, lots of drama, lots of worrying...oh, and some magic. Can't forget the magic :)

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Merlin :)

Not much else to say this time. This chapter turned out way different than I expected 'cause I kept having to add things to make it all make sense and to not rush things. I'm rather pleased with how it turned out :)

If you see any errors, please let me know and I shall fix them post haste :)

Onward!

* * *

CHAPTER 18

He wasn't sure how long he stood there, unmoving with his eyes on the floor even though he wasn't really seeing anything. His mind was too busy, too full to process his surroundings, much less in a way that would actually make sense. Arthur was pretty sure that he had tried and failed a hundred times to shape his thoughts into something that worked, that aligned, but it seemed to be an impossible task. Too many of the truths he had believed in had been unraveled with just a few sentences, and as long as he tried to cling to them, he would never be able to put everything back together. He knew that, but accepting it was another matter.

How was he supposed to accept the fact that his best friend had spent the entirety of their time together lying to him, hiding, going behind his back, committing treason? It was a bit funny in a way how the last one didn't bother him anywhere near as much as the first when it really should have been at the top of his list. However, he had already come to the conclusion that not all sorcerers were evil, not if they were truly born with their gifts. People weren't born evil, after all. Wickedness was a disease that festered in the heart, that grew out of pain and loneliness, fear, hatred, greed, bitterness and despair, and no one, no matter how noble, was completely immune to its touch. It was something that _all_ people were capable of, not just sorcerers, and since not _all_ people were bad, then surely _some_ sorcerers had to be good.

He couldn't help but wonder if Merlin fell into that category.

Just what kind of sorcerer was Merlin? What had he been using his magic for? Why had he chosen to practice it in the first place? Sure, magic was a gift that people were born with, but it was still a choice to use it. What was Merlin's reason for using magic? Why would he take that kind of risk while living in Camelot? Why had he even come to Camelot? What was the point? There had to be a reason.

He had so many questions, and no matter how many times he cycled through them, he wasn't likely to get anywhere on his own. He knew that there was really only one person who had the answers. Even though he was still mad, still uncertain, still felt that horrible pang of betrayal, he knew what had to be done. The only way he was going to get anywhere was if he talked to Merlin. Whether he could believe him or not didn't matter. At the very least, he needed to hear what he had to say.

When he finally managed to pull himself back together and raise his head, his thoughts were honestly no more sorted than they had been before, but they were quick to zero in on one very important fact when his eyes fell on the very _empty_ cell next to him.

Merlin was gone.

"Merlin?"

He looked around, thinking that perhaps he had missed something, that his vision wasn't entirely clear yet, but no matter what he did or where he chose to look, there was no change. His servant wasn't there.

Just how long had he been standing there lost in thought? Surely it couldn't have been that long. Surely he would have noticed if someone took Merlin from his cell—he couldn't have been _that_ far gone, right? He couldn't possibly have missed something like that…and yet the cell next to him was empty. Merlin wasn't there.

The last time he had seen him, _really_ seen him, Barragh had had him. Merlin had been on his knees, held up by his arm, unable to support himself by his own power. He had been looking at Arthur with eyes so sad and so desperate, full of guilt and dread, pleading not to be hated, not to be ignored, and Arthur…

The prince clenched his fists tightly, his nails digging into his palms.

He had done nothing.

While he had been having an internal crisis, Barragh had dragged Merlin from his cell. That tyrant had done it right in front of him, and he hadn't even noticed. Surely Merlin would have called out to him, would have said something, tried to get his attention in some way, but he couldn't recall anything. He just didn't remember, and he began to hate himself for it, because even if Merlin hadn't called out to him, there would have still been noise—the cell door opening, the sound of footsteps, the door being slammed shut—and yet he hadn't heard anything.

He had simply stood there, staring off at nothing while they had taken Merlin away. Sorcerer or not, he was still human, still vulnerable, and only moments before he was dragged from his cell, Barragh had been torturing him. He had to have been in pain, must have been desperate and scared, dreading whatever else the man had in store for him, and instead of trying to help him or defending him (it wouldn't have amounted to anything, because Barragh wouldn't have listened, but direct results weren't always the point when it came to words), Arthur hadn't even acknowledged him. He hadn't said anything, hadn't done anything; he hadn't even noticed until Merlin was already gone.

What kind of friend did that make him? What kind of prince, kind of _person_?

If this was his reaction, then was it truly any wonder that Merlin hadn't trusted him with his secrets?

Frustrated and angry—and more than a little worried—the prince fought the urge to slam his fist against the wall and instead threw himself against it, sliding down until he was sitting on the floor. He couldn't find the strength nor the will to stay standing, his head too heavy and too full, too many emotions battling for dominance. He wanted someone to talk to, someone to help him sort through his thoughts, help him make sense of everything, but there was no one there. The only two people who could have helped him were gone—one had disappeared and the other had been taken. He was alone.

He had never felt more powerless.

* * *

"You really are pathetic. What did you hope to accomplish, calling out to the prince like that? Did you really think he would help you? If so, you're more of a fool than I thought."

Merlin didn't say anything. He remained silent as he was dragged down the hall, trying not to listen to what Barragh was saying to him. He didn't want to hear it.

"There's no way a Pendragon would sympathize with a sorcerer. He may be noble and all, but he's still his father's son."

_You're wrong_. Arthur wasn't his father. He _wasn't_. Merlin just had to keep believing in that, believing that the prince wasn't as thoughtless and closed-minded as Camelot's king. Arthur was a very different man from Uther, but at the same time he also knew that the two shared a lot of qualities, that the prince had been brought up on his father's values and beliefs. It wasn't an easy thing to change a person's way of thinking.

"Even if the two of you did form some sort of bond, it doesn't matter now. He knows what you are. You'll find no refuge in him."

He wanted to tell Barragh that he was wrong, that that was a lie; he wanted to say the words so badly, but he couldn't push them past his lips, could barely get them up his throat, because if he did, it may cast suspicion on his and Arthur's "bond" as the man had put it. Also, well…

He was no longer entirely sure if it really _was_ a lie. Arthur had ignored him, after all.

Eventually Barragh came to a stop, and when Merlin raised his head to see where they were, he found himself standing in front of a large door at the end of a corridor. He had been expecting to come face to face with a cell, most likely a reinforced one seeing as how he had already blown apart one of the sturdiest cells they had. However, what he saw before him was baffling, because the room he had been dragged to _wasn't_ a cell, and the door was made of nothing more than wood. Was Barragh trying to insult him, taunt him? If he was, it wasn't working. Had he tried a few days ago or even a couple hours or so ago, it might have, but now he couldn't be bothered to care. He was just too tired to worry about it. It didn't really matter where he was placed. Given the state he was in, he wouldn't be able to escape regardless of where they put him.

Still, a _wooden_ door of all things. That just wasn't fair.

"Welcome to your new 'cell,'" the nobleman said as he pulled the door open and dragged the warlock inside. Just like Merlin had thought, the room wasn't actually a cell. It looked more like it had once been a supply room, but now it appeared to be more like a chamber used to interrogate prisoners. There were multiple sets of manacles chained to the wall, some on the floor, and at the center was a table and chair. He couldn't really see any weapons anywhere (he wasn't sure whether to be grateful for that or not, though he decided he may as well be, seeing as how he was pretty sure that a weapon wouldn't help him any in the state he was in), but there _was_ a small knife stabbed into the table. Part of him was a bit curious as to what it was for, but the other part prayed he wouldn't have to find out.

With a sharp tug, Barragh began to drag him across the room towards a set of shackles hanging from the wall.

"You better get used to this place, boy," he began, a cruel smirk spreading slowly across his face, "because unless you start behaving, this room'll be the last one you ever see."

Catching sight of the twisted gleam in his captor's eyes, Merlin knew what was about to happen. He knew that Barragh had every intention of putting that brace back on him, of letting his magic rage through him until he either blacked out or begged for death. He was going to torture him until he agreed to serve him or until his body gave out entirely. Having already tasted that kind of agony, he wasn't sure how long he'd be able to last. However, he did know one thing for sure.

No matter what, Barragh would never have his loyalty. His magic was for Arthur and for Camelot. Even if the prince chose to hate him, that simple fact would never change. Camelot was still his home just as Arthur was still his friend, and he would rather die than cause harm to either one.

He prayed with all he had that that resolve would hold, that his heart and mind wouldn't waver, because he knew that there was only so much a person could endure. Everyone had a breaking point. As he was chained against the wall with Barragh standing over him, that same merciless grin on his face, Merlin hoped that he would never find his.

…But when he saw that metal brace descending upon his arm, he feared he already had.

* * *

"…I'm not sure how much longer I can take this."

When he heard those words echo down the corridor, Rordan came to a stop, glancing over his shoulder as two guards walked out from one of the side passages. He had been on his way to the armory to turn in his equipment for the night, but he decided to linger a little longer to hear what the two men were talking about. He had a pretty good guess already, which only made him that much more eager to hear what they were saying.

"I know. Even after it's done, I feel like I can still hear the screaming."

"I wonder if Barragh's finally lost it—I mean _really_ lost it. I've never seen him obsess so much over a sorcerer. The look in his eyes has gotten almost manic."

"At this rate, I don't know how much longer he'll last. There's only so much a person can take."

"I wish there was something we could do. Merlin's the last person who deserves this."

As the two guards passed him, paying him no mind, Rordan found himself gripping the hilt of his sword so hard that the grip dug into his hands, his knuckles turning white. He had more or less already known who they were talking about—Merlin had been a popular topic over the last month—but knowing certainly didn't make hearing it any easier.

Even though he hadn't been able to see the warlock since his attempted escape, he had made sure to keep his ears open for any information about what was happening. That had proven rather difficult after Barragh had given the order to lock Owyn in a cell on the other side of the castle. Unlike Owyn, most of the guards were too afraid to say or do anything directly, meaning that asking questions rarely got him anything worthwhile. Most of what he knew about the situation he had learned through eavesdropping. He had wanted to talk to Merlin directly, but Barragh hadn't allowed anyone to see the warlock other than the few guards who brought down his meals. The same orders had been given in regards to Owyn.

However, he knew that Merlin had been locked up next to Arthur. He knew that in that time, the two of them had talked. He also knew that the prince had been told about Merlin being a sorcerer. Barragh had done it on purpose in order to force his hand, to take his home from him so that he could never return to Camelot. After that, the nobleman had dragged him off to one of the rooms used for interrogation, and ever since then he had been torturing him, trying to get him to break, believing that he would if he no longer had any hope of ever being able to return to his home…but Rordan was certain that Merlin would rather die than serve Barragh.

It had been nearly three days since then. If something wasn't done soon, his body would eventually give out.

Clenching his jaw almost as tightly as his hands, Rordan fought the urge to punch the wall next to him, knowing that it wouldn't do him any good. Anger and guilt rolled through his chest, gripping at his heart until it hurt. He wanted to do something, anything, because none of this was fair, and Merlin was going to _die_ if something wasn't done, but at the same time he knew what was on the line, knew that just one wrong move, one miscalculation could bring everything crashing down around them. He had a family to think about, to protect, and he would never be able to live with himself if anything were to happen to them, but at the same time he couldn't stomach the decisions he was being forced to make.

If he were to abandon Merlin, abandon his friends…just what kind of person would that make him? How would he ever be able to face his family with so much blood and guilt on his hands?

Taking as deep a breath as he could manage, he slowly relaxed his grip on his sword. Instead he reached to the set of keys on his belt, the keys he had been about to turn in. His shift was ending much like it always did so late at night, but he couldn't bring himself to make the rest of the journey. Instead he just stared at his keys, at the possibilities they presented.

Would it be worth the risk? Could they really come away from this unscathed?

"_If something does happen, promise me you won't give up. We can't just leave him here."_

He had promised Owyn that if something happened to him, he would do what he could to get Merlin out. Perhaps, if he played this right, nothing would have to be sacrificed. It was worth a shot.

He knew what he had to do.

* * *

He wasn't sure how much time had passed. A day, maybe two. Either way it didn't make much difference, because in the end he still wasn't any closer to figuring things out. Arthur was beginning to get more and more frustrated with every hour that passed (he was pretty sure that it had been at _least_ a day, but beyond that he wasn't entirely sure), and the more anxious he got, the more he began to worry. After all, in all that time—however long it had been—he had yet to see or hear any sign of Merlin. He didn't know what was happening, and the guards weren't talking—not that he was asking, mind you—but from the looks on their faces, he knew it had to be bad.

There was a small voice in the back of his head that spoke up every once in a while, telling him that he shouldn't be concerned, that Merlin was a sorcerer and a traitor, but it hadn't taken long for him to start ignoring it. There was no point in paying it any mind, because even if he did, it wouldn't stop him from worrying. Even if Merlin _had_ lied to him and _had_ betrayed him, that didn't mean that Arthur wanted him to be tortured. He would never wish that kind of pain upon anyone (expect for maybe Barragh, but he still rather preferred the thought of running him through with a sword instead).

All he really wanted to do was talk to Merlin. He'd figure out what to do with him after he heard what he had to say, but at the rate things were going, he wasn't sure if he would ever get that chance. There was every possibility that Merlin could die from whatever torture Barragh was inflicting upon him, and even if he endured it, it was unlikely that he'd be able to escape from the weapons dealer again.

There was also _another_ problem. By now word would have reached his father about his imprisonment, and whether he paid the ransom or sent an army, Arthur wouldn't be a guest in Barragh's castle for much longer. He was almost hoping for the army. At least then there'd be a better chance of getting Merlin out with him. He wasn't entirely sure what he would _do_ with him after that, but at the very least he knew that he couldn't just leave him at the mercy of a madman who saw sorcerers as nothing more than tools. That wasn't a fate anyone deserved.

He heaved a sigh (number one hundred and five by his count, although truthfully he had lost track a long time ago, so that number was quite possibly a bit exaggerated) and slumped further against the wall as he tried to at least sort out a few things that he had figured out in the past however-many-it-had-been days (he was starting to lean more towards two, although three was looking like a viable option as well). First off, Merlin was a sorcerer. However much he wanted to pretend otherwise, that fact wasn't about to change. Second, Merlin was _not_ evil. It was pretty much impossible to think otherwise; the two weren't even remotely similar.

The third was something that had taken him a little longer to figure out: Barragh had somehow stopped Merlin from using magic. It was the only thing that made sense, because otherwise Merlin would have escaped a long time ago. Barragh had said that he was powerful—Arthur wasn't entirely sold on that idea yet—and so seeing as how the castle was still in one piece and Merlin was still a prisoner, that meant that for some reason he couldn't use his magic, not fully at least.

The fourth and final thing that he had been able to figure out actually didn't have much to do with the other three, although they had certainly helped him arrive at it, and that was that something actually _had_ happened to Owyn. Had the man been well and able to visit them, he would have, especially after what had happened. Therefore something must have gone wrong, and if that was the case, then Arthur was entirely on his own. He no longer had an ally to count on, to talk to, someone who could help him think of a way to get to Merlin before Barragh succeeded in whatever twisted plan he was weaving. He was completely alone.

What was he supposed to do now?

The sound of footsteps coming down the corridor had become so common to him now that he almost didn't notice them. They only ever signified a meal being brought, and so he probably would have ignored them this time too if not for the fact that the leftovers of his supper were still sitting on the floor by his feet. He raised his head and quickly looked up, trying to gauge what time it was which proved to be rather difficult without a window. He was pretty sure it was dark out; he couldn't possibly be _that_ out of it to not notice the night passing into morning. If that was the case though, then why was someone coming down the corridor?

Not sure what to expect, Arthur stayed quiet and waited, listening as the steps drew closer, never once faltering in their stride. Whoever it was and whatever they were coming for, they seemed determined. He couldn't stop himself from tensing a bit when the steps became rather loud in the otherwise silent hall before suddenly stopping as their owner appeared in front of his cell.

In all honestly, Arthur wasn't entirely sure what to make of him. Most of the guards who had visited him in the past week or so had always come with food or water, but this one wasn't carrying anything. He also looked a bit different, his expression resolved instead of resigned. There was something else too, something almost familiar about him. He felt like he had seen him before, but for the life of him he couldn't place his finger on exactly when.

Not knowing quite what to say or how to react, the prince simply watched as the guard glanced down the hallway quickly before reaching to his belt and removing something from it. Despite the darkness of the halls, there was enough torchlight for him to see what it was.

A key ring.

"Who—" he began to ask only for the guard to shush him, signaling to stay quiet. Scowling a bit at being treated like a child, he adopted a much softer tone and asked, "Who are you? What are you doing?"

"My name is Rordan..."

_Rordan._ He knew that name. _Owyn's friend._

Things made a bit more sense now.

"…And I'm letting you go."

…Wait, what?

"What?" he asked, a little louder than he had intended, earning him a nervous look from the guard.

"I…I'm going to let you go," Rordan began, his voice shaking just a bit with hesitation before he took a deep breath and pressed forward, "under one condition."

He didn't particularly like the sound of that, his eyes narrowing a bit in suspicion as he watched the man outside his cell. He wasn't particularly fond of making deals with people, because often enough they wanted something. He should have known that his freedom wouldn't come without a price.

"What kind of condition?" he asked, expecting to be asked for a reward or maybe a favor, but what Rordan actually asked of him wasn't at all what he had been expecting, though in hindsight it probably should have been.

"Take Merlin with you."

"…What?"

"If I release you, then please, take him with you."

He wasn't sure what surprised him more, the earnest way Rordan was asking for his help or the fact that he had asked for it at all. After all, unlike Owyn, Rordan had no idea that he and Merlin knew each other beyond a mere acquaintance. He was Arthur Pendragon, son of Uther, prince of Camelot, the kingdom where magic was outlawed and sorcerers were sentenced to death. What could have possibly possessed him to ask for a favor like that from someone like him? Was he completely mad or just naïve?

Or had things simply become that desperate?

"Why?" He needed to know. He needed to understand what was going on, because that pit of worry that had blossomed in his stomach almost three days ago was slowly growing into something he couldn't hope to bear.

"Because he doesn't deserve this," Rordan said, his voice full of guilt and desperation, quiet but still every bit as intense as the words themselves. "Because I can't take it anymore. What Barragh's doing to him—what he _intends_ to do to him—isn't something anyone should have to endure. Merlin is a good man, one of the most selfless and kindhearted people I've ever met, and I can't keep sitting by and doing nothing while Barragh tortures him."

He felt his heart clench. He had known that Barragh was most likely torturing the sorcerer, but to have it affirmed was a hundred times worse. He could understand Rordan's desperation to put an end to it, but what he didn't understand was how he could hand Merlin over so easily when he had no knowledge of Arthur's intentions.

"But why me? You know who I am, right?"

"Yes."

"And you know about the laws regarding magic in Camelot?"

"…Yes."

"Then why entrust him to me?" Why take him from one prison just to send him to another? Why save him just to condemn him to death?

Rordan hung his head, his hands clenching around the bars of the cell door. There was a pained expression on his face, the torchlight playing off the lines that creased it. When his answer finally came, it seemed like each word fell with the weight of a blade.

"Because even if you decide to execute him, it would be a mercy compared to what Barragh will do to him."

His breath caught as everything in his chest seemed to tighten. He almost didn't believe what he had heard. A part of him wanted to be mad, to yell at Rordan for suggesting something like that, to call being executed a mercy, but at the same time he knew that it was when compared to unending pain. This man was desperate enough to seek help from someone like him, someone he knew nothing about, who could very well kill the friend he wanted to save. Even if Merlin hadn't already been someone important to him, how could he ever say no to a plea like that?

"…Alright. I'll help him."

A small smile crossed Rordan's face.

"Thank you." He quickly raised his key ring to the lock, sifting through them to find the right one. "Owyn was right about you—seems you _can_ be trusted. Guess I shouldn't be surprised though. He really does have a knack for understanding people."

"What happened to him?" He needed to know. It had been bothering him ever since the man had suddenly disappeared. He was pretty sure that it had something to do with Barragh finding out about what he had been up to.

Strangely enough, his assumption was actually right, though not in quite the way he had expected.

"Barragh found out that he had been talking to you and bringing most of your meals, so he locked him in a cell on the far side of the castle."

"What? But why?" What did it matter?

"I don't know, but if I had to guess…it's probably because Owyn is good at saying things, the kind of things that make people think. Barragh was probably worried that he'd say something to you."

Arthur opened his mouth to say something along the lines of "well, he didn't," but at that very same moment he realized that the correct response was actually "well, he kind of _did_." Ever since that first encounter, Owyn had been talking to him, spouting a mix of nonsense and philosophy and fact that somehow always made perfect sense after thinking about it. The guard had dragged him into conversations about honor and pride, about prejudices, empathy, sacrifice—about the difference between what's expected and what's right. He had talked about compassion and friendship, attachment and loss, morals and magic and trust, and through every conversation and every argument, Arthur had listened. Whether he had intended to or not, he had truly _listened_.

Had Owyn somehow been counting on that?

"You know, Owyn and I had always intended on rescuing Merlin, but it was his idea to ask you for help. He said that you were a good man. I'm glad to know he was right."

All that time, even without the knowledge that the two of them knew each other, had Owyn been setting everything up, preparing him so that eventually he would be willing to _accept_ Merlin?

"_I don't really have an opinion on magic. I think it's incredible, but as far as seeing it as good or evil, to me, magic just __is__."_

_"A talent for magic is something you're born with. You either have magic or you don't. Some people can go their whole lives without ever realizing it's there, and sometimes it awakens on it's own, whether the person wants it to or not. Choosing to study it and to learn spells is a choice, but having it isn't…and I guess, sometimes, a person isn't really given any choice whatsoever in using it either. Sometimes magic is instinctive. It just happens, whether they want it to or not."_

All that time…

"_Can I ask you something? If you were to meet someone with magic who had done no wrong, who meant you no harm—someone who may as well be the very definition of a good person…what would you do? If you met a sorcerer who only ever used their magic to help others, would you still hand them over to be executed?"_

All that time, and then even after that…after their plan had failed and everything had fallen horribly apart.

"_Can you at least tell me something?"_

"_No, I can't, but…I can at least give you some advice. No matter what happens, never question his loyalty to you. I may not know what the two of you have gone through, but I'm almost certain that everything he's done has been for you. Don't ever throw that away."_

He didn't know if that was true or not. There was still so much he didn't know, but he _would_ find out. He would save Merlin, and together they would return to Camelot.

"There, finally," Rordan said as the lock clicked and the door opened. Arthur quickly got to his feet, and for the first time in over two weeks, he stepped outside his cell and into the corridor.

It was liberating.

"Here." He turned to face the guard and found the hilt of a dagger being pressed into his hand. "It's not much, but it may come in handy. I'd give you my sword, but I fear that'd be too noticeable."

"Thank you." He quickly attached it to his belt, feeling more comfortable than he had in a long time. It wasn't the same as having his sword at his side, but it was enough to lift some of the unease in his stomach.

After closing the cell door as quietly as possible and taking another quick glance around, Rordan turned to face him and then pointed down the corridor.

"If you go down this hallway and take a right, you'll eventually reach a small intersection. Go left from there and follow the path all the way down. At the end you'll find a large wooden door. That's where Barragh has him."

"You're not coming with me?" He tried not to sound as concerned as he actually was, because it was all well and good to tell him how to get to Merlin, but he would have no clue where to go afterwards. He had been informed more than once that the castle was pretty much a gigantic maze. The last thing he wanted was to get lost.

"No," said Rordan, holding up his key ring. There was the barest hint of a smirk on his face. "I still have one more thing to do. I'll meet you there as soon as I'm done."

"Alright." There was no helping it. For now he would have to move forward on his own.

"You shouldn't run into anyone, but still, be careful."

"I will."

He was about to take off, but before he could, Rordan stopped him for just one moment more.

"Arthur," he called, and when the prince turned to face him, he offered a very short but very sincere bow. "Thank you for your help. Merlin means a great deal to a lot of us. Even though I've only known him for a short while, I still consider him a friend, and I know Owyn feels the same. No matter what happens after this, I just want you to know that I'm grateful, so thank you."

_No, I'm the one who should be grateful_._ You looked after him when I couldn't. You protected him as best you could when I didn't. You've probably done more for him in just one month than I ever did._

_Thank you._

He couldn't say it. Not yet. Not until this was all over, not until Merlin was safe and Barragh was nothing more than a bad memory. When that time came he would definitely say it.

Until then he would accept the thanks that he didn't yet deserve, and he would commit himself to doing everything he could to earn it.

"_Everything he's done has been for you. Don't ever throw that away."_

The lies, the betrayal, the magic—none of that mattered, not now. There would be time for that later, and there _would_ be a later.

No matter what, he _would_ save Merlin.

* * *

**A/N:** So, I hope you enjoyed the chapter :) The _next_ chapter will have the scene that inspired this all and that more or less gave me the title for this fic (which took an absurdly long time for me to come up with when I first started writing this). I was originally going to include it in this chapter, but then it would have gotten too long, and I think I'd rather have it stand on its own anyway. Plus this gives me more time to spend writing it so I can make sure it turns out right :)

I estimate maybe four or five more chapters after this, but don't take my word for it. I'm almost always wrong. We'll see what happens.

Again, I want to thank everyone for reading this. I'm glad you're enjoying my fic, and thanks so much for all the support :) I really appreciate it, and I'm sorry that I haven't been getting to the review responses. If you have a question for me, please feel free to ask, and I shall do my best to remember to respond. If you just want to chat, then by all means, I'm more than willing to talk :)

Feel free to drop a review and let me know what you thought, but please don't ever feel obligated :)

Until next week!


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N:** Well, here we go. I bring you what I consider the true climax of this fic. In this chapter is the scene and conversation that literally spawned this whole story, including the title. Words cannot describe how much I enjoyed writing it, and I sincerely hope you all enjoy reading it just as much.

**Title: **Of Twisted Morals and Human Weaponry  
**Author: **BeyondTheStorm  
**Rating: **T for...well, a lot of things. Some language, some violence, the whole general situation, a bit of torture, etc.  
**Characters/pairings:** The cast is as follows: Merlin, Arthur, an antagonist, two guards with names, and a few without. Merlin and Arthur are the main focus of this story. Oh, and no pairings. Only friendship here, though if you want to read more into it, feel free. Whatever floats your boat :)  
**Spoilers: **Um...none, as far as I know.  
**Warnings: **Abuse, a bit of torture, me being descriptive  
**What to expect:** Bromance, introspection, angst, some whump, H/C, lots of drama, lots of worrying...oh, and some magic. Can't forget the magic :)

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Merlin :)

Not much to say today. It's late, and I'm tired. Definitely going to bed now.

If you see any errors, please point them out, and I shall do my best to fix them post haste :)

Onward!

* * *

CHAPTER 19

With careful steps and a watchful eye, Arthur slowly made his way down the corridor. He could think of very few things that he had ever done in his life that had ever been quite so unnerving. Every step he took, however cautious, felt like it echoed off the walls, threatening to alert anyone nearby to his presence, because aside from the crackling of the torches that lined the hall, everything was silent. There were no voices, no approaching footsteps, not even the clanking of metal that often sounded during the stroll of an armored guard. Even though the shadows continuously moved around him, it was only due to the flames of the torch lights as they flickered in their brackets. As odd as it seemed, the halls were completely abandoned.

Had Rordan somehow planned for that as well?

Wary of such an easy passage to a place that should _not_ be easy to reach, the prince stayed close to the walls, just in case. Even though he knew that most of the guards were technically friendly and likely wouldn't stop him if he told them what he was doing and who had released him, that didn't mean he was willing to risk it. After all, there _were_ guards who were actually loyal to Barragh, and with the way his luck had been recently, he'd probably end up running into one of the few that was. Therefore, even though everything around him was quiet, he remained on the look out, taking note of his surroundings just in case he ended up needing to duck into one of the alcoves or even an unused cell in order to stay hidden. He wasn't particularly fond of hiding, but sometimes it was necessary. This happened to be one of those times.

As much as he tried not to, while slowly making his way forward, Arthur found his mind wandering a bit—not enough to distract him from his task but enough to make him slowly begin to fear what he would find once he reached the end of the second corridor. It had been three days, after all. Three days since he had last seen Merlin. Three days that the young sorcerer had probably spent with Barragh, and if that last encounter with the weapon's dealer was anything to go by, the time spent with him had probably been nothing short of torture—quite literally, in fact.

The prince grit his teeth, his fingers tightening around the hilt of the dagger at his side. As angry and frustrated as he was, he was also terrified, because he honestly had no idea what he was about to find. He had no idea what had truly occurred over the last few days, and a part of him was starting to worry that Merlin had simply given up. He didn't want to believe it, didn't want to even consider the fact that his servant would give in to Barragh after spending more than a month defying him at every turn, but at the same time he knew he had to be realistic, had to consider the worst possible scenario. Merlin was probably as strong as Barragh was ruthless. Between the two of them, it would be nothing short of a test of wills.

What if Barragh were to win? What would happen to Merlin? The nobleman saw sorcerers as living weapons, so would that mean that he would simply torture Merlin for the rest of the boy's life in order to make him do what he wanted? What if he pushed too far? What if the pain became too much? There was such a thing as dying from pain induced shock. Sometimes it was just too much for a person to bear. What if Merlin were to succumb to it? What if he just wasn't strong enough? What if he was already…?

Arthur quickly cut that thought off before it could fully form, not wanting to even consider that as a possibility. He _would_ find Merlin, and the servant _would_ be alright—perhaps not in the best of shape, but he would definitely be alive. He refused to accept anything less. He wasn't sure if he'd be able to live with himself if it turned out to be otherwise. After all, he had a lot to make up for. Sorcerer or not, Merlin was still his friend; their time together couldn't have _all_ been a lie. After all, ever since they had found each other again, Merlin had done nothing but try to protect him from Barragh. He had known what would happen if the nobleman ever found out that the two of them were connected, and he had done all he could to keep that from happening.

Even in the midst of so much suffering, he had still placed Arthur above everything else. Those weren't the actions of a selfish, devious man or a false friend. Magic or not, at the core of his being, Merlin was still Merlin. That would probably never change.

Turning down the last stretch of hallway, Arthur picked up his pace a bit, not wanting to waste any more time. He needed to get there as soon as he could. The path was a simple one; if he just kept on going, he'd eventually reach the room where Merlin was being kept. He honestly wasn't sure what to expect. What kind of room would it be? Would he even be able to enter it (it's not like Rordan gave him a key or anything)? Would there be guards there? Would _Barragh_ be there? Half of him was hoping that he would be so that he could finally run the crazed man through, but at the same time he knew that his presence there would make things that much more difficult.

_There's no point in worrying about it. I'll find out when I get there._

In a matter of minutes that felt far more like hours, Arthur was finally able to see the door up ahead. Much like Rordan had said, it was nothing more than a large wooden door. There was no reinforcement, no special locks, absolutely nothing out of the ordinary; there weren't even any guards posted outside. It wasn't at all the type of place one would detain a sorcerer unless they knew for a fact that there would be no way for said sorcerer to escape. There could be any number of reasons why that would be the case, though some he would rather not think about.

Stopping in front of the door, the prince took a deep breath, trying to prepare himself for what lay ahead. There was no turning back…not that he ever would. Carefully he reached out and grabbed the handle of the door. He had expected it to be locked at the very least, but when he pushed forward, it creaked open just a sliver (he was marginally disappointed that he wouldn't get to kick it down, but surprise rather outweighed the dissatisfaction).

With one more deep breath, he pushed it the rest of the way open and stepped inside.

Nothing could have prepared him for what he saw.

As light spilled into the dimly lit room from the corridor, Arthur found his eyes drawn to the floor where dark lines had been crudely etched into the stone, spiraling in circles and twisted patterns that looked like intricate knots. They were surely runes of some kind, magic in nature, but what truly drew his attention were the dark splatters around and within them. Even in the faint torchlight, he could still tell that they had once been a vibrant red before fading into a rusted brown.

As his attention trailed towards the center of the room, he saw more markings and more blood, but what his eyes finally landed on was enough to nearly stop his heart and send it racing at the same time. Caught between horrified and enraged, he found himself staring at the very man that he wanted nothing more than to stab with the dagger at his side. Barragh was just standing there at the center of the room in all his condescending, arrogant glory.

But something seemed a bit…_off_ about him.

During the few times that Arthur had interacted with the weapons dealer or seen him interact with others, there had always been an air of control about him. However insane the prince believed him to be, Barragh was actually rather smart and perceptive, a true manipulator, a nobleman with the air of status even if he didn't quite fit the part…but the man standing before him looked nothing short of crazed and completely mad. His hair was a mess, his clothing wrinkled and caked with dirt and spots of blood. The grin on his face was large, baring his white, crooked smile, and his eyes were slightly wide with an almost manic glee shining in them.

He was the picture of insanity.

When their eyes met, that intense, wild look didn't falter, and for a moment Arthur wasn't entirely sure if the man was even registering the fact that he was there. However, it didn't take long for that gaze to focus on him, for that brow to furrow just a bit, but still he found that the look on Barragh's face didn't change.

"You…" he began, sounding more amused than frustrated by the prince's sudden appearance. "How did you escape?"

Arthur tensed, preparing himself just in case Barragh chose to retaliate or call in a few guards, but to his surprise the man merely waved him off as if his presence meant nothing to him at all, just a slight inconvenience.

"Well, no matter. It's of little consequence." That manic grin grew even wider if that was even possible, taking on a cruel, self-satisfied edge. "Since you made it all the way here, I'll let you be the first to see."

The prince was about to say something along the lines of "see what," but the words very quickly got lodged in his throat when he finally took notice of what Barragh was doing, or more precisely, what he was _holding_. In his left hand was a knife covered in blood which he suddenly cast aside where it fell at his feet next to a slightly familiar metal brace. In his right hand was a sight that Arthur wished he had _never_ been made to seen.

Merlin.

Pale, unconscious, bleeding. His skin looked almost as white as his shirt had once been, aside from the dark bruises that hung like shadows under his eyes—either from exhaustion or blood loss, he wasn't sure which. The clothing he wore was torn and dirty, small cuts and bruises visible on the pale skin underneath. He was covered in wounds of varying degrees, some treated and others left to bleed, but the most prominent one was at his right temple where he must have been struck rather hard. It was recent, the wound still fresh, raw and bleeding, blood dripping to the floor from where it had run down the side of his head, down his forehead, around his ears, and even across his face.

From the way he looked, Arthur would have assumed him dead if not for the occasional twitch of his fingers against the floor and the quick but shallow rise and fall of his chest.

Of course, just because he was alive didn't mean that the damage done hadn't been enough to destroy him. He knew for a fact that the wounds he could see on his body were only a small fraction of the agony he had been forced to suffer. There was no telling what kind of wounds had been inflicted upon his mind or his magic.

When Arthur finally found his voice, it came out far softer than he had wanted, the words nearly getting caught in his throat again.

"What did you do to him?"

Barragh's large hand was wrapped around Merlin's thin neck, holding the boy a few feet off the ground. It was big enough that his fingers overlapped at the back, making the young sorcerer look so much smaller, so much more vulnerable than he actually was, than the prince knew him to be. Arthur wanted nothing more than to tear it off. Just the sight of his servant in such a state was enough to make his blood boil.

"Isn't it obvious?" the nobleman asked, excitement and self-satisfaction dripping from his voice. "I _broke_ him. Everyone, even a sorcerer, has a limit as to how much they can endure, and I found his. Just now he was actually _begging_ me for death. It won't be long before his resistance shatters completely, and when that happens, he'll have no choice but to serve me if he wants the pain to end. With a sorcerer like him at my disposal, no one will be able to stand against me."

He glanced down at the boy hanging limply from his hand, and Arthur suddenly found his own fingers curling tightly into fists. He wasn't sure if anger was a strong enough word to describe how he was feeling.

"You're completely mad," he snarled, earning him a curious look in return.

"Mad?" Barragh questioned, looking confused for only a moment before his face twisted into a disgusted sneer. "No, princeling, I believe that's the reserve for people like your _father_."

Arthur was about to retort with all the fury of a scorned prince—Barragh had just insulted his _father_ and his _king_, after all—but the man just kept right on talking, barely paying the prince any mind at all.

"Executing sorcerers, wasting such precious resources—he's destroying some of the most incredible weapons this world has ever seen!"

"Weapons?" he asked, wanting to make sure he had heard right. He had been told once before that Barragh viewed sorcerers as tools and nothing more, but to hear it outright and spoken with such insult and indignation was enough to temper his anger for just a moment as confusion and an angry sort of dark curiosity took its place.

"Yes, weapons. What else would they be?"

He motioned to Merlin, lifting him a little further off the ground before giving him a quick shake in emphasis. It took everything Arthur had not to charge at the man with his dagger drawn and demand that he let Merlin go _right now_.

"You see this here?" he said, that twisted grin spreading across his face once more. "This is a _weapon_. Sorcerers are tools to be used, nothing more."

"You're _wrong_."

"Oh, am I? So then you consider them to be human?" He scoffed, almost looking insulted at the mere thought. "If they were human like the rest of us, then magic wouldn't be an inborn gift. It would be available to _all_."

"What are you talking about?" Yes, he knew that magic was something a person was born with, that not just anyone could use it, but what did that have to do with sorcerers not being human?

"Don't you know? Magic is a _natural_ talent. Only those born with it can use it. It's not something that just anyone can learn. People like you and I could spend our entire lives studying it but never achieve anything. A normal person can't simply pick up a spell book and learn magic."

He already knew that. _Just what the hell is he trying to say?_

"Don't you think that's unfair?" Barragh continued, his grin less manic but his eyes suddenly more so. "Magic is such an incredible force, capable of making the impossible possible, and yet you have to be _chosen_ to wield it. Unlike a sword, not just anyone can use magic. It's either a part of you or it isn't. No matter how badly I want to have it, magic will never be mine. It's enough to make me _sick_.

"All that power, all those possibilities, and yet so many sorcerers _waste_ it—and _then_ there are people like your _father_ who just dispose of them as if they were nothing more than common criminals, mere _rubbish_, instead of using them for what they're meant for. Just think of the army you could build with sorcerers under your control. Who wouldn't desire an arsenal like that?"

The man began to laugh, loud and long and boisterous and nothing short of completely and intolerably insane.

Twisted.

That was the only way to describe such a cruel, inhumane way of thinking.

"Sorcerers are still human, magic or not, and they should be treated as such." He clenched his fists so tightly that his knuckles went white and his shoulders tensed. He took a step forward threateningly, looking for all the world like he was about to punch the man standing only a few yards away from him. He had never been so furious. "Now let him _go_."

"I think not," Barragh scoffed. "This boy has more magic in a single finger than most have in their entire body. He has the power to raze kingdoms to the ground, and he's been hiding it, _wasting_ it! All that power, and _nothing_ has come from it. He's nothing but a fool and a coward."

"You're wrong," he tried to say, but Barragh paid him no mind and just kept talking, and Arthur's short temper grew shorter and shorter with every word.

"But with _my_ help, I'm sure he'll be able to put it to good use. A decent weapon just needs a hand to—"

"He's _not_ a weapon!"

Angry didn't even begin to describe the feeling flooding through his veins.

The weapons dealer was looking at him curiously again, obviously a bit confused, but Arthur's attention was solely on Merlin, his servant and his friend, the bravest man he had ever known. That cheerful, selfless, kind, and occasionally wise idiot had been reduced to something like this, had been tortured and abused until he had begged for death in order to escape from it all, to make it stop.

No, angry really _didn't_ describe it. Not at all.

"Why do you care what happens to him? He's just a sorcerer. At least with me, he'll get to keep his life."

"And what kind of life would that be?" Arthur demanded. "No will, no freedom, treated like a tool."

"That's what he _is_. Why can't you understand that? So many people treat magic as a weapon, but if that were the case, then everyone should be able to use it, but they _can't_. Magic isn't a _weapon_, it's a _power_, just like strength. A person can use a sword to channel their physical strength, but the only ones who can channel magic are _sorcerers_. Don't you see? They are _weapons_, no different from a sword. That is _all_ they are—"

"Shut up." He could feel his hands bleeding, his nails breaking through the skin on his palms.

"—and so they should be treated as such."

"You're _wrong_!"

Those words seemed to echo around the room, bouncing off the walls and ringing in his ears. In that moment he was pretty sure he had never meant anything as strongly as he did those two words.

It was strange how in the midst of so much anger and so much hatred, listening to a man spout nonsense about human weapons and twisted morals, that he was finally able to find a moment of clarity.

At last everything finally made sense.

"Oh?" Barragh sneered, obviously no longer amused with the prince or his outbursts. "How so?"

He had been so lost in thought, so wrapped up in his own problems, his own pain, his own fears, worried and hurt and confused over so much when in reality the answer was simple. It had always been simple.

Merlin _was_ a sorcerer. That fact would never change, but Merlin was also _Merlin_; he always _would_ be, no matter what, and _that_ one would never change either.

That's why it was okay.

"_You know, sometimes its better not to have all the answers." _

He didn't _need_ to know everything, not yet.

"_After all, if people were meant to know everything about each other, then a thing like trust wouldn't exist, would it."_

One day, he would know the whole story. Until then, he would simply have to have faith in Merlin.

It was a very liberating notion.

Arthur took a deep breath and found himself able to relax his grip, unclenching his hands and allowing them to hang open at his sides. The fury that had enveloped his heart and coursed through his veins had calmed into something more temperate, more refined, even though it still burned in him, bright and hot as ever. For the first time in a long time, he felt like he had control over what was happening around him. Even though there was still a great deal of things unknown including an outcome that had yet to be determined, he found himself willing to accept it with a kind of confidence that he had never quite known before.

He finally understood, and nothing was going to stop him.

"Even if what you said is true," he began, meeting Barragh's glare with one of his own, "sorcerers are living, breathing human beings."

They were people, no different from anyone else, and they deserved the same treatment, regardless of how they were born.

"You're right, magic _isn't_ a weapon. It's a _talent_ and a _gift_, something to be proud of, but people like _you_ twist it for your own selfish reasons. You hunt and torture them, use them until there's nothing left!"

"You aren't any different," Barragh snarled, that familiar anger finally slipping in through the haze of insanity that had settled upon his features. "At least I am giving them a purpose. All that awaits them in Camelot is _death_."

"No." One simple word, spoken with more authority and more certainty than any king, any _ruler_, could ever manage. His voice, his words, they never wavered. "When I am king, things will be different."

_I swear it._

"What, are you saying that you're willing to _accept_ magic? That you'll actually welcome _sorcerers_ into your kingdom?" The disbelief and mocking scorn was so heavy in his tone that the prince could practically feel it, but it didn't matter if Barragh believed him or not. He wasn't about to change his mind, and no question to his resolve would ever be enough to break it.

"If that's what it takes to protect people like Merlin from monsters like you, then so be it. I will do whatever it takes."

Merlin had stayed by his side through everything, had sacrificed so much for him, had put him above even his own happiness, his own wellbeing, his own _life_. Maybe he _didn't_ have all the details just yet, but he knew enough to know that he owed his friend a debt that _had_ to be repaid. Even if it took him the rest of his life, he _would_ pay it. He would do all he could to become the type of friend he should have been from the moment he realized that Merlin _wasn't_ just a servant to him…that he was someone _important_ to him.

"Why do you even care? You don't even _know_ him. This boy is _nothing_ to you."

_You're wrong!_

With tempered rage, Arthur reached for the dagger at his side, his fingers curling around the hilt like they belonged there.

He was done. To hell with it all.

He had never wanted to make that promise anyway.

"That _boy_," he began, low and seething, his grip tightening until he could feel the guard digging into his palm, "is my servant and _my_ _friend_, you arrogant bastard!"

He didn't bother to relish the way Barragh's eyes widened beyond the realm of madness and into absolute, unadulterated shock. He didn't care that he had just revealed something that could very well blow up in his face. He couldn't even muster enough concern to worry about the situation he was in, how he was facing down an armed man twice his size with nothing but a dagger at his side.

Arthur just _didn't_ care.

"You _will_ return him to me."

The prince drew his weapon, his key to salvation, and pointed it straight at the twisted man standing before him. Come what may, whether it be hell or high water, he was going to bring everything to an end.

"Or I will strike you down where you stand."

* * *

**A/N:** Well, there you have it :) Like I said before, I sincerely hope you all enjoyed the chapter. It was great fun to write :) I actually don't have anything else to say this week, so I think I'll leave it at that.

As always, thank you so much for the reviews/favorites/alerts :) And thank you to everyone who has been reading. I'm glad you're all enjoying this fic, and I hope this chapter didn't disappoint. I would love to hear what all of you think, so feel free to drop a review, but as always, please don't feel obligated. I'm a terrible reviewer, so I've no right to ask, but they really do make me happy :)

Until next week!


	20. Chapter 20

**A/N:** Well, here we go. I bring you the third longest chapter of this fic (beaten only by 9 and 18, I think), clocking in at just over 5,200 words. This turned out vastly different from what I expected for this chapter. I had intended to get through a lot more stuff than just this, but alas...I should know by now not to hold too high of expectations for myself. If there's on thing I'm good at, it's drawing things out. I'm rather terrible at estimating the length of my stories. One would think I would have realized this by now :)

**Title: **Of Twisted Morals and Human Weaponry  
**Author: **BeyondTheStorm  
**Rating: **T for...well, a lot of things. Some language, some violence, the whole general situation, a bit of torture, etc.  
**Characters/pairings:** The cast is as follows: Merlin, Arthur, an antagonist, two guards with names, and a few without. Merlin and Arthur are the main focus of this story. Oh, and no pairings. Only friendship here, though if you want to read more into it, feel free. Whatever floats your boat :)  
**Spoilers: **Um...none, as far as I know.  
**Warnings: **Abuse, a bit of torture, me being descriptive  
**What to expect:** Bromance, introspection, angst, some whump, H/C, lots of drama, lots of worrying...oh, and some magic. Can't forget the magic :)

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Merlin :)

So, I already knew that going into this chapter, I wasn't going to be able to fully please everyone. I tried to take everything into consideration, but in the end I pretty much went with how I thought the scene should go. Funnily enough, I had absolutely no idea how I wanted to write this chapter until I was on my lunch break today. Funny how inspiration sometimes strikes at the oddest of times. I just hope that what I decided to do is satisfying enough. It certainly was fun to write :)

So anyway, I was _going_ to be a horrible person and cut this chapter off after the second section, but in the end I decided not to, because I felt that would have been just a tad too cruel this time. You'll understand when you read it :)

Onward!

* * *

CHAPTER 20

To be perfectly honest, Arthur didn't really have a plan. He had absolutely no idea how he was supposed to get Merlin and himself out of this situation. Looking at it logically, it seemed almost impossible. Barragh was twice his size, a real mountain of a man, and he was armed far better than the prince. There was a sword on one side and a dagger on the other, and Arthur was certain that there were likely more on his person, concealed and out of sight. The man was a weapons dealer, after all. He likely kept himself well-prepared for encounters such as this, and given his profession, it was pretty likely that his skill would be on par with a knight's at the very least.

To make matters even more difficult, he also had chainmail and a few pieces of armor as well: gauntlets, a breastplate, shoulder guards, etc. Not only was he big, but he was protected. Getting past both his defenses and offenses wasn't going to be easy especially since all Arthur had was a dagger. No armor, no sword, just a dagger. He was at a complete disadvantage. Usually he was better matched with his opponents, but not this time. He was going to have to be careful. After all, it wasn't just his life riding on this. In reality, his life probably wasn't riding on it at all. Barragh only wanted to ransom him off after all. Killing him had never been the intent. If Arthur chose to walk away, he was fairly certain that the nobleman would let him keep his life.

However, this had never been about him to begin with, not really. From the moment he left Camelot, everything he had done had been for his servant.

When he had set out, he hadn't really had much of a plan aside from "find Merlin." All he had intended to do was find his friend and bring him home, and despite the obstacles placed in his way, that plan was still the same.

Why bother changing it now?

Just a few yards away from him, Barragh finally seemed to snap out of his momentary surprise as a cruel yet amused grin took its place upon his face. He released the warlock and allowed him to collapse fully to the floor before taking a solitary step towards the prince. He placed his bloody hand on the hilt of his sword, the threat obvious in his stance, and yet his almost casual posture was clearly mocking in nature.

"You'll strike me down, huh?" he challenged, grinning all the while. "Do you really think you can defeat me, princeling?"

It was true that the odds were stacked against him. By most standards, it seemed damn near impossible. However, it didn't really matter whether he could or not; he just _would_. It was as simple as that. There was no way he could allow an injustice like this to pass, to let this man continue to do as he pleased. He wasn't about to let Barragh use his only friend like some kind of weapon, to force him to commit atrocities that a heart like Merlin's would never be able to abide, to keep _hurting_ him until he finally gave in or died from his wounds. The weapons dealer was sadistic and twisted, and if ever there was a man who could truly be called evil, Barragh was most definitely it.

He wouldn't let him get away with this. The nobleman would pay for his crimes with his life, he'd make certain of it…but in all honestly, as noble as his intentions seemed, he knew that at the very heart of them all was the purely selfish desire of vengeance. This wasn't entirely about seeking justice, of ridding the world of a cruel, malevolent person. It wasn't about protecting his land or his people (this wasn't even his kingdom, after all), and it had nothing at all to do with being a prince or even a knight. In the end, all he wanted was to see Barragh dead for what he had done to Merlin, to punish him for daring to lay a hand on someone that actually meant something to him.

It didn't matter if he was outmatched, if there was only a slim chance of him actually being able to win against the tyrant of a lord. He _would_ win, because any other outcome was simply unthinkable. He couldn't see himself losing. He just couldn't.

Ignoring Barragh's taunt, Arthur simply deepened his glare and hardened his resolve, for once allowing his opponent to see every bit of the anger and the flood of emotions coursing through him. If looks could kill, Barragh likely would have burst into flames. It was an encouraging thought (a shame it couldn't actually happen though…not without the help of magic at least. He made a note to ask Merlin about that once the sorcerer was properly healed and back on his feet. He imagined his list of questions would only grow longer in the coming days).

After a moment more of absolute silence, the weapons dealer seemed to realize that Arthur wasn't going to respond to his jeering question. The grin slipped off his face, a scowl forming as he gripped the hilt of his sword tightly and slowly drew the blade from its sheath. Even in the dim lighting, Arthur could tell that it was a fine blade. He also got the feeling that the markings along the middle weren't just for decoration—Barragh _was_ a dealer who specialized in magic, after all. It wasn't too far a stretch to assume that most of what he carried on his person was enchanted or reinforced in some way by magic.

This definitely wasn't going to be easy.

"Well, what are you waiting for, Arthur Pendragon?" said Barragh as he fell into a familiar stance (yep, definitely at the level of a knight at the very least). "You want him back? Come and take him."

The first move was important; he had learned that long ago. It could make or break a battle. He couldn't be hasty, couldn't just rush forward without some sort of plan. All he had was a dagger, and even though he certainly knew how to fight with one (he had been trained in all manner of weaponry until he was proficient with them all), he still felt more comfortable with a sword in his hand. With such a short range of attack, he would have to be able to get in close to his opponent, which was a lot easier said than done, and then after getting in range, he would have to be quick. One strike could end everything, one way or another. There was no room for carelessness, for mistakes, not this time.

It didn't seem like Barragh had any intention of moving first. There was no reason for him to. After all, he wasn't the one who wanted to completely maim and emasculate his opponent—though the second _was_ plausible (he certainly seemed the type). _Arthur_ was the one who had challenged _him_, so he would have to make the first move. Such a chance was both a blessing and a curse.

Finally deciding on a course of action, the prince gripped his dagger tightly and charged. He kept his eyes trained on Barragh, wanting to see the moment he made a move or even flinched in a certain direction. He was good at reading his opponents, a skill he had picked up along the way during his years of training. Of course, part of that ability was pure instinct—there was no _true_ way to predict an opponent's moves unless you could somehow read their mind—especially when going up against someone he knew nearly nothing about. He had no idea what Barragh's style would be like, whether he would focus more so on offense or defense, whether he was fast despite his build, or whether he had any particular skill in reading someone's movements as well.

There were a great deal of unknowns when it came to this man, and so he really couldn't afford to let himself get caught off guard. If something went wrong, there was no one around to help him. He didn't have anyone to distract his enemy or toss him another weapon if he ended up losing his. He was completely alone this time. One wrong move, one tiny little slip in judgment, and it would all be over. What made things worse was that after his little revelation earlier, he was no longer sure whether Barragh would let him live or not. The man seemed to desire power over everything, even money, and if he believed that killing the prince would help him gain control over Merlin, then Arthur was certain he wouldn't hesitate to do it. The ransom was in no way an insurance upon his life, not anymore.

He was no longer safe from this man's unchecked insanity.

As Barragh began to swing his blade, Arthur attempted to do the sensible thing and duck under it so that he could get in close and hopefully ram his dagger into the man's chest. Despite the chainmail and the breastplate, there were gaps in the armor where he could slip in his blade and force it through the links of metal. All he needed to do was get in a hit close to the man's heart and it would all be over. However, as it turned out, Barragh's size actually _wasn't_ a hindrance to his speed. He swung the blade too fast, forcing the prince to raise his own to defend.

The force of the strike nearly knocked the dagger from his hand, and he had to quickly step back to avoid losing his balance. He moved back after deflecting the blow, wanting to put some distance between himself and the madman who clearly knew how to handle himself in combat. It seemed all of the prince's earlier assumptions were indeed spot on. Barragh _did_ have the same level of training as a knight.

This really wasn't going to be easy, not at all.

He gathered himself and his thoughts and tried again only for much the same thing to occur, but this time the weapons dealer followed him back. It didn't take much to quickly put him on the defensive, forcing him to use his dagger to block and deflect when he couldn't manage to dodge out of the way entirely. It became rather obvious to him after about the eighth of ninth strike he deflected that if he tried to meet too many of them head on, he was going to lose his grip on the dagger. Each one sent a jolt through his arm from the sheer strength behind them, and after just nine or so blows, he was already starting to feel the growing strain in his hand and arm. It probably wouldn't take long for the numbness to set in, and if that happened, his fate would be sealed. If he couldn't hold onto his weapon, then he would have no way to defend himself.

Trying to remain calm, he attempted to get around the man's blade so that he could at least land a hit. Even a minor wound would be in improvement and could turn the tides of their duel in his favor. Pain was a good way to slow someone down and distract them. He would pretty much take whatever he could get at that point.

As they continued blocking and countering blows, the prince kept looking for an opening of some kind, hoping that if he was patient enough one would present itself to him. When he finally found what he was looking for, he didn't hesitate. Pushing himself as fast as he could, he dodged a swing that was just a little too wide and landed a decent blow on the man's arm. The blade sunk in just under the shoulder guard, a sharp stab that would definitely hinder the man at least a little.

However, his small victory ended up costing him dearly. As he pulled away, bloody dagger still in hand, Barragh swung his blade again, a look of pure anger on his face; if he _was_ in pain, he showed no sign of it. Doing the only thing he could to save himself from losing a limb, the prince blocked the blow, but the force behind it was too much for his body to handle. He was sent crashing to the floor in an undignified heap, groaning from the harsh contact and the numbness that was spreading through his hand.

Arthur was well aware of what would happen to him if he remained immobile for too long, so he quickly sat up and raised his sword-arm once more in case he needed to counter another blow…only to realize that his dagger was no longer there. His fingers were gripping nothing but air. He turned to the side, hoping that it would be next to him—he didn't remember letting it go at _all_—and caught sight of the small but deadly blade.

Ever so innocently it lay there, halfway across the room and _completely_ out of his reach.

Well… _Damn_.

* * *

Darkness.

Nothing but black in every direction. Absolute darkness—that was pretty much all he could see, hear, or feel. In fact, that seemed to be _all_ he had been able to feel for a long time now. Of course, he had no way of knowing that for certain. Time was rather irrelevant when you had no idea where you were or what was going on. It seemed pointless to bother keeping track of it. It didn't much matter in the end anyway. Besides, he almost preferred the darkness. It was certainly better than what awaited him in the waking world, that was for sure. He definitely wouldn't mind staying a while longer…which of course meant that as soon as that thought crossed his mind, he was no longer able to. Ironic how things like that always seemed to be the case. Already the darkness was fading (if such a thing were even possible. It was usually the other way around).

Strangely enough, the first thing he noticed _wasn't_ the pain. What came to him first was actually noise, and a rather familiar noise at that. It was the sound of quick steps, light but still heavy enough to keep the owner balanced, to allow their stance to remain firm, and along with it was the clashing of metal. He knew both well, enough so that they registered even amidst the fog that had settled over his mind. He heard them often in Camelot, usually when Arthur was training the knights. It was the sound of a battle, a duel. Someone was fighting.

With a great deal of effort, he tried to focus on the noise, to let it ground him, distract him from what he knew was still waiting for him in the realm of consciousness. Maybe if he had something to distract him, the pain wouldn't set in. Honestly, anything was worth trying after what he had been subjected to earlier (he would have rather just remained unconscious for the rest of his life, but seeing as how that didn't appear to be an option, he needed to find a viable alternative).

As the noise began to grow louder as he slowly returned to awareness, he tried to crack his eyes open to see just what was going on. Unfortunately, that simple act was enough to awaken a good deal of the pain that had been sleeping in his body, just waiting for a chance to assault him again. Had he not already screamed his voice away, he probably would've groaned at the nauseating discomfort that quickly spread through every fiber of his being. Eventually it would begin to feel like fire again, like his entire body was being set ablaze and slowly torn apart, but before that could happen, he was determined to figure out what was going on. He needed to know. Curiosity was a rather powerful force, even in the midst of agony.

Doing his best to keep the pain at bay long enough to open his eyes, Merlin forced his way through the darkness until a sliver of light made itself known before him. Unfortunately, that wasn't nearly enough for him to be able to see his surroundings, so he tried a bit harder, fighting the urge to just give up and go back to being unconscious and unaware. He could do that as soon as he had sated his curiosity. However, just the mere act of opening his eyes enough to properly see was proving to be exhausting. It also didn't help that even the dimmest of lighting felt like he was staring into the sun. He knew it wouldn't last though, and that was enough to keep him from stopping.

Taking a slow, shallow breath, he cracked his eyes open just a bit further until he could see blurry shadows moving about in the torchlight. He very carefully blinked his eyes a few times, resisting the temptation to just leave them closed every time, and eventually he found that the shadows began to take shape. He could just make out two pairs of legs moving about, coming close to each other for a brief moment and then separating, over and over again, and every time they came together, that familiar clash of steel would ring throughout the room.

Two people were fighting, just as he had suspected. However, he couldn't quite figure out who they were. It was rather difficult to identify a person from their legs alone, but he couldn't for the life of him move his head to get a better view seeing as how he was pretty sure that that's where a good deal of the pain was coming from. He vaguely remembered hitting it against something, but that memory was most likely lost amongst the others, caught up in all the things he wanted to forget from the past few days. It was best to just not think about it. He could ignore it for at least a little longer yet.

Even though he hadn't fully satisfied his curiosity, he was starting to think that it would be better to go back to sleep for a while. The pain was starting to come back even more, and sooner or later it would force him under whether he wanted it to or not. Better to go willingly than to fight it. However, just as he was about to let his eyes slip closed again, a short cry caught his attention followed by the clattering of metal against stone. He gave his attention back to the two people in the room, not expecting to see anything more than he had before, but the sight that met his eyes banished any thought of going back to sleep.

A man was lying on the floor after being knocked down—a young man with blond hair whose voice had sounded painstakingly familiar. Even though he couldn't see the man's face, could make out none of his features aside from his build, he was certain that the eyes staring back from that face would be a vibrant and haughty blue.

_Arthur_…

He didn't understand. He couldn't for the life of him figure out why Arthur was there. What was going on? What was happening? The questions and the sheer level of confusion were enough to really make his head hurt. He was certain that his eyes would have become as wide as saucers had he actually been capable of opening them more than halfway, because he was fairly sure that the last time he had closed his eyes, he had given up on the idea that he would ever see the prince again. He had lost all hope of ever being reunited.

Sure, this wasn't much of a reunion, but it had to count for something.

He watched silently as the prince sat up and raised his arm only to suddenly look dumbfounded at the sight of his empty hand. Merlin could see his eyes darting around almost frantically until they fell on something off to the side. Curious, the warlock shifted his gaze to where Arthur's was only to see a dagger lying on the ground quite a long distance away. He wasn't entirely sure what was so fascinating about it, his mind unable to make the connection in its somewhat sluggish, foggy state, so instead he turned his attention back to the prince only for what little breath he had been taking in to get caught in his throat.

Someone, the other person who had been in the room, obviously—he did seem to recall that there had been _two_ people fighting—was standing in front of the prince. They were holding a sword, the blade of which was resting against the side of Arthur's neck. The prince was staring up at the person, looking a mixture of nervous and furious. The second was pretty common, the first not so much. However, the level of anger was enough to make him wish he could raise his head to see who the other person was (again, curiosity and all).

In the end he didn't need to be able to see them. Their voice was more than enough to give them away. He was certain he'd never be able to forget the sound of it for as long as he lived.

"Well, well, Prince Arthur," the man said, pleased and smug. "It seems you don't quite live up to your reputation. I was expecting more of a challenge from you."

Barragh.

Arthur had been fighting Barragh.

Why?

"I wonder what I should do with you. I'm sure your father has already sent someone with the ransom, though given Uther's reputation, I wouldn't be surprised if he sent an army instead. If that's the case, then it really wouldn't matter whether I keep you alive or not."

It felt like his heart stopped as he heard those words, and had he been able to call out, he would have. He would have yelled at the weapons dealer, in anger and desperation. He would have probably begged him not to kill the prince, to spare his life, to let him go. It was terrifying in a way to know that a simple threat to Arthur's life would be enough to reduce him to that, to knock down every single one of his defenses, but perhaps the most frightening part about it was the fact that he probably would have promised the man whatever he wanted just so long as Arthur lived. He would have cast everything else aside, including himself, to keep his friend safe.

"I'm beginning to think it might benefit me more if you were dead. If what you said is true, then I'm sure the little sorcerer cares a great deal about you. Perhaps your death would finally be enough to break him."

_No!_

He _had_ to do something. He had to help. He couldn't call out, couldn't bargain or plead, so he needed to act. He had to find a way to save Arthur…but what could he do? The state he was in, he wouldn't be of much use to anyone.

If only the prince had a weapon of some kind, a way to defend himself, then maybe…

Oh.

The dagger.

Merlin shifted his gaze to where the small but deadly weapon lay. If he could somehow get it to Arthur, then the prince would be able to fight back.

However, he couldn't move. His body wasn't listening to him. He could barely even feel it aside from the pain (the occasional twitching _didn't_ count. That was entirely involuntary).

If he couldn't move, then how was he supposed to reach the dagger and throw it to Arthur? His friend needed his help. He _had_ to do something.

A thought began to form at the back of his mind, fleeting but there, something he hadn't considered for a long time now, something he had been robbed of until it felt like a far off memory that he couldn't quite reach.

Even though he honestly couldn't move, could barely even keep his eyes open enough to see, the truth of the matter was that he _did_ have a way of getting that dagger. He always had, from the very day he was born.

Before he was even old enough to understand what magic was, to understand that he was different, unique, special, he had been able to reach for anything he wanted with nothing more than a thought, a desire, and it would come to him without question, go wherever he wanted it to without resistance. It was something that only he could do with nary a word, something that couldn't be taken away or suppressed so easily.

He was magic and magic was he.

If he simply willed it to, the dagger would move. It had to.

Arthur needed it.

Somewhere in his mind, he knew that this was going to hurt. The magic in him had been pushed and pulled so many times and in so many different directions that it had felt like his body was being torn apart. It hadn't been given any time to recover, to settle—he wasn't even sure if he'd be able to reach it underneath everything else, lost in too many sensations and buried under too much pain. However, he needed it. For once in his life, he desperately needed it, because without it he couldn't do anything. Without it, he was helpless, and if he was helpless, then Arthur would die.

Regardless of the consequences, he _had_ to use it, and so he did the only thing he could think of. He _reached_. He pulled at the dagger, directed every thought he could towards it, waiting for that familiar thrum of power, of warmth that came every time he used his magic, that spark of comfort and familiarity that made him feel whole. He knew it was going to hurt, but the pain was a small price to pay when it came to protecting the people he held dear.

His magic existed for Arthur's sake.

If he couldn't use it to save the prince, then what was the point? What good was he if he couldn't even protect the person he had dedicated his life to?

With every last ounce of will and power he had, he reached for his instinctive magic and grabbed the dagger, sending it flying across the floor silently until the hilt bumped into the prince's leg. He had just enough time to see Arthur look down at it as Barragh drew his sword back for the final strike before the pain set in. The light dimmed as his eyes slipped closed, but for a brief moment he could still hear what was happening. He was able to make out the sound of a blade sinking into something followed by a pained gasp and the clatter of metal upon stone before a wave of fire washed over him, engulfing him. It washed everything out until only silence remained and he was swallowed by the darkness once again.

* * *

When Arthur suddenly felt something press against his leg and glanced down to see what it was, he almost thought he was hallucinating, that his desperation had made him delusional. After all, he was pretty sure that dagger had been halfway across the room only a moment ago. He very clearly remembered it being nowhere near him, so then how had it gotten there? There was no one who could have moved it. After all, _he_ certainly hadn't done it, and there was no way Barragh would have (that would be rather counterproductive).

But if that was the case, then who could have…?

Struck by a sudden thought, the prince glanced over at the only other person in the room aside from Barragh. A few yards away from where the two of them had ended up, Merlin was still lying on the floor exactly where he had been, motionless and with his eyes closed. It didn't seem possible, but at the same time nothing else made sense.

_Merlin, did you…?_

There wasn't time to think about it. He had something else that he needed to do. Barragh had already drawn his blade back after spouting more threats and more nonsense that Arthur hadn't cared enough to listen to, and now he was bringing it forward to run the prince through.

Arthur didn't think about what he was doing. He could ponder how everything had happened later. All he needed to do at that moment was move.

Grabbing his dagger as tightly as he could, he threw his weight to the side and dodged the strike that would have pierced his heart. Not expecting it, Barragh overbalanced, and before the man could recover, Arthur pushed himself forward and up, driving his dagger as hard as he could between a gap in the nobleman's armor. He forced the blade in, piercing through chainmail and leather and flesh until he could push it no further before twisting the dagger as hard as he could.

A pained gasp echoed through the room followed by the clattering of metal on stone as the sword in Barragh's hand slipped through his fingers. His eyes were wide, his mouth hanging open in shock. He looked down at the prince as if he couldn't believe what had happened, what he was seeing. Knowing him, he probably couldn't.

Arthur was no expert on anatomy, but he knew a killing blow when he dealt one. No one could recover from a strike so close to the heart.

Rising to his feet, the prince regarded the man before him with something very close to vindictive satisfaction but was probably more like self-righteous anger. He leaned close, wanting to make sure that the poor excuse for a noble heard every single word he had to say.

"You deserve so much worse than this for what you've done," he told him, low and seething, meeting those shocked eyes with a gaze that burned. "If it had been up to me, I would've had you drawn and quartered for what you did to him, you sick, arrogant bastard."

He twisted the blade once more.

"But I fear I don't have that kind of time, so we'll have to settle for this."

He let go of the hilt and stepped back, watched as the towering man fell to the floor much like his sword had only moments ago. He waited with baited breath until those dark eyes closed and that broad chest finally stopped moving. He didn't start breathing again until he was certain the other no longer could.

He wasn't entirely sure what emotion it was that flooded through him at that moment, pooling in his chest and his lungs until he almost felt like sobbing from the sheer intensity of it. In some ways it felt a great deal like relief, because while looking down at the man below him, he realized that it was finally over. Never again would that mouth spout cruelty and lies, words of hate and manipulation. Never again would those hands bring forth destruction and cause unimaginable suffering. He would _never_ be able to hurt anyone ever again.

It was over.

Barragh was gone.

* * *

**A/N: ** There. I hope you enjoyed the chapter :) I was totally going to end it where Merlin's POV ends, but I knew what would happen if I did, and seeing as how I've ended pretty much every chapter since chapter 9 in a cliffhanger, I figured I'd be nice this time. Originally a whole lot more was going to take place in this chapter, but this scene demanded its own apparently, and who was I to say no? I just write the words that come to me. I stopped pretending that I have control over that ages ago :)

Anyway, I do hope you enjoyed it. I certainly had a lot of fun coming up with it (it's a good thing I got off work two hours earlier than usual for a Tuesday otherwise you probably _would_ have gotten stuck with the cliffhanger as the ending). Thanks so much for reading! I'm glad you're all still enjoying this :) Please feel free to drop a review, but don't feel obligated. I'm more than happy just knowing that there are people reading this.

So, it's late now, and I'm going to get some sleep before I have to be up again in five hours. With work and choir, I've got a long day ahead of me :)

Until next week!


	21. Chapter 21

**A/N:** It's very late again, and I'm very tired, so I'm going to keep this short today :)

**Title: **Of Twisted Morals and Human Weaponry  
**Author: **BeyondTheStorm  
**Rating: **T for...well, a lot of things. Some language, some violence, the whole general situation, a bit of torture, etc.  
**Characters/pairings:** The cast is as follows: Merlin, Arthur, an antagonist, two guards with names, and a few without. Merlin and Arthur are the main focus of this story. Oh, and no pairings. Only friendship here, though if you want to read more into it, feel free. Whatever floats your boat :)  
**Spoilers: **Um...none, as far as I know.  
**Warnings: **Abuse, a bit of torture, me being descriptive  
**What to expect:** Bromance, introspection, angst, some whump, H/C, lots of drama, lots of worrying...oh, and some magic. Can't forget the magic :)

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Merlin :)

I really want to say that there are only maybe three or four chapters after this one, but all of my predictions have been wrong thus far, so we'll see what happens :)

Not much to say about this chapter, only that I hope you like it :)

Been listening to the music box version of Hello/How Are You this whole week. Does it have anything to do with this chapter? No, not really. I just think it's pretty in a bittersweet kind of way, and I rather love the lyrics :)

Re-read this while my eyes were trying to close, so if you see any mistakes, please let me know and I shall fix them tomorrow after choir.

Onward!

* * *

CHAPTER 21

The first thing Arthur did once he was certain it was over was reach for the sword lying at Barragh's side. He then quickly unhooked the scabbard from where it hung on the man's belt and connected it to his own before sheathing the sword. Even though he probably wouldn't need it, he felt better having a blade at his side, and if he was going to be escaping with Merlin, then he wanted a way to defend himself and his servant if the need to do so should arise. One could never be too careful in a situation like theirs.

The second thing he did was turn and run halfway across the room to where the unconscious warlock lay, completely still and unmoving. He fell to his knees next to him, immediately placing two fingers against that pale neck, searching for a pulse before checking for anything else. He had to be certain, needed to feel the soft thrumming of a heart that was often too kind and too brave for its own good, one so often overlooked despite its unbelievable size. He had to know for sure that Merlin would be alright, that whatever he had done to help in that battle (and he _had_ helped, because there was just no other explanation for how that dagger had gotten to him right when he needed it the most) hadn't pushed him beyond the point of recovery.

He wasn't sure what he would do if it turned out to be too late. Such a thing was simply unfathomable to him.

It took a while, but he eventually found what he had been searching so desperately for: a soft but steady beat pulsing against his fingers. He heaved a deep sigh and looked down at the warlock, taking note of the injuries he had only seen at a distance before. The blow to the side of his head had thankfully stopped bleeding, but he was more than likely going to have a concussion when he woke up. The rest of the wounds were small, probably inflicted with a knife and for no other reason than to cause pain without endangering his life. Most were superficial, but a few would need to be treated.

Aside from the head wound, what worried him most was how shallowly the boy was breathing. His chest barely rose or fell; if one weren't specifically looking for the motion, they would probably assume he wasn't breathing at all. Whatever had been done to him had clearly put a great deal of strain on his body. It was unlikely that he'd be waking up anytime soon, but perhaps that was for the best. With nothing to help dull the pain, he would likely wake up to extreme discomfort. It was better if he slept for now regardless of how badly the prince wanted to talk to him. He still had a lot of questions to ask, after all, and there were even _more_ things that he simply just wanted to say.

"Thank you" was rather high on that list, and "sorry" wasn't too far behind it.

There was so much he needed to make up for. He only hoped that Merlin would be willing to forgive him for being such a prat about the whole thing.

Arthur's head suddenly shot up as his ears caught the sound of hurried footsteps. He turned towards the door and placed his hand on the hilt of his pilfered sword, waiting to see who would appear before him. He hoped it wouldn't be anyone that actually cared about the deceased weapons dealer, because he really didn't want to be bothered with another fight when there were more important things to be doing, but in the end he needn't have worried. The man who stepped through the doorway was a familiar one.

Rordan.

The guard _had_ said he would meet him there, after all, though he was a little late to be of any help in dealing with Barragh. That was fine though. Arthur had wanted to be the one to pay him back for all he'd done. It had just felt right that it be by his own hand that everything was finally put to an end.

"Arthur," he heard the guard call, his voice sounding rather relieved upon seeing the prince unharmed. He took a few more steps before he came to a stop, his eyes drifting to another point in the room. It was easy to see what had caught his attention. Even in death, Barragh was a rather difficult thing to miss.

The prince remained quiet and just watched as the guard approached the body slowly, his eyes a bit wide. If it wasn't widely known that Barragh was ill favored, even downright hated by almost all of his own men, Arthur might have called that expression horror, but he knew that it was only a form of shock, the look of a man who couldn't quite believe his eyes. The prince didn't need to be able to read minds in order to know what was probably going through Rordan's head. His jailor of however-many-years was now lying on the floor, motionless, lifeless, unable to hurt or torment anyone ever again. It was obviously a difficult thought to grasp, to realize that it was over, that the threat was gone…that he were free.

They were all _free_.

"You killed him…" It was both a statement and a question, spoken almost reverently despite the confusion that bled through. The reality of it would probably take a while to truly sink in, but at that moment, Arthur couldn't wait that long. There were still things that needed to be taken care of, namely Merlin.

"Rordan," he called, grabbing the man's attention. The guard shook his head to clear it before making his way over. The prince watched as the lingering shock faded into concern as Rordan knelt by the warlock's side, taking note of his injuries and the overall state he was in. Something told him that this man was probably a lot more knowledgeable in that area than he was if that focused gaze was anything to go by. Perhaps he was a physician as well as a guard. He made a mental note to ask later once everything settled down and there was time to just sit and talk.

Eventually Rordan heaved a sigh and sat back, a small smile gracing his face.

"He'll need treatment," he began, "but for now he should be alright."

The guard got to his feet and glanced around the room once more before turning to the prince.

"Come on, we need to get him out of here. If you'll follow me, I can lead you to the front gate. There shouldn't be too many guards wandering the corridors right now, so we should be alright."

Arthur nodded and then gave his attention back to his servant, trying to figure out the best way to carry him. He didn't know how long they were going to have to walk, and even though Merlin was on the slight side—even more so now—he was pretty sure that his arms wouldn't be able to bear the boy's weight the entire way. Usually he would just carry him over his shoulder, but that would be unwise given his difficulty breathing and the head wound (he was no physician, but he did recall being told that serious wounds, if possible, should be positioned above the heart to limit blood loss. The wound wasn't bleeding now, but that could easily change if he wasn't careful with the injured warlock).

That pretty much left just one option.

"Rordan," Arthur called, grabbing the guard's attention. "Could you help me with him?" As much as he didn't particularly like having to ask for help, he knew he wouldn't be able to position Merlin by himself, not without potentially hurting him, and that was the _last_ thing he wanted to do after everything that had already happened. He was better off just sucking it up and asking for the guard's assistance.

Rordan nodded his consent and crouched down again while Arthur turned so that his back was facing the guard. He glanced over his shoulder and motioned with his arms, and that seemed to be enough for the man to understand what he wanted to do. Very carefully he lifted the warlock into a sitting position before just as carefully maneuvering him so that his arms were draped over the prince's shoulders and his body was resting against Arthur's back. Shifting the weight he had decided to bear, Arthur secured his servant's legs with his arms, and once he was certain that he could stand without dropping him, he got to his feet. He had to hunch over a bit to make sure Merlin didn't just slide right off, but it wasn't too much of a bother. This would be a lot easier and probably a lot less painful for the both of them.

"Alright," he said, looking to Rordan. "Lead the way."

Together the two of them made for the door, not even bothering to look back as they stepped into the corridor. There was no point. All that mattered was moving forward.

As quietly and quickly as he could, Arthur followed Rordan down the long hallways and around every corner, always making sure to wait until he was given the okay to move. Even though they didn't really _have_ to avoid most of the guards, it was still a better idea for them to remain unseen. Being spotted would result in too many questions and too much wasted time, so Arthur followed very carefully, never moving too fast or too slow, not wanting to get ahead or fall behind. After a while it became painstakingly clear that on his own, he never would have been able to make it out of the castle. There were so many corridors and so many different paths to take. Rordan seemed to have them all memorized; he never hesitated when choosing a direction. Arthur couldn't help but wonder how long it had taken to learn the castle as well as he had. Apparently Owyn hadn't been exaggerating when he had equated the castle's design to that of a maze. One could very easily get lost and turned around in the many halls and alcoves.

It felt like an hour had passed by the time they finally made it into a rather large room, one that looked like an entry hall. There were all sorts of doorways and staircases leading to different rooms and different levels, but it was the very large and very open gateway that drew his attention. He was fairly certain that it shouldn't have been open given how late it was into the night, and he was also pretty sure that someone should have been guarding it. Arthur wondered if the man leading him had anything to do with that.

Rordan motioned for him to follow again, this time moving rather quickly towards the entryway. Arthur wasted no time in following, wanting nothing more than to get outside, to finally be free of the stone walls that had started to become far too familiar over the last few weeks. He was almost running by the time he got within a few feet of the gate, and when he finally took that first step beyond the walls, he came to a stop and took a deep, filling breath.

He was certain that fresh air had never felt so good.

The outside world was dark, lit only by the moon peering down from the night sky, but even in such pale lighting, he could still see the rolling plains and the thick forest not too far beyond them. Through the soles of his boots, he could feel the uneven ground, firm and soft at the same time, the grass all around him rustling in the gentle breeze, cool and crisp as it passed over, sending a shiver down his spine that wasn't from the cold.

He had never really understood it when people equated fresh air and being outside to being _alive_, but at that very moment that was exactly how he felt. It had been a long time since he had seen anything other than stone, metal, and torchlight.

It was invigorating. He felt _alive_.

"Come on," Rordan urged, motioning for the prince to follow. "This way."

Arthur followed the guard outside a little further and then around the side of the castle. What he found waiting for him there turned out to be a very pleasant surprise. Apparently Rordan really hadn't been idle with his time, because while Arthur had been on his way to find Merlin, the guard had prepared a horse for them, fully saddled and with provisions.

"I tried to get two of them, but I fear I was only able to secure one before the stable master got back."

"It's fine." It was more than fine. This was far more than he could have ever asked for. Besides, a second horse wasn't necessary. He would rather have Merlin ride with him. That way he'd be able to make sure that he was alright, that he didn't fall off, that he kept breathing and didn't decide to give up after Arthur had gone through so much trouble to get him back. No, he had no intention of parting with his servant anytime soon. He was going to keep an eye on him for as long as he could until he knew without a shadow of a doubt that the warlock would be alright.

As Arthur moved towards the horse, Rordan moved to help him, carefully taking Merlin as the prince pulled himself up onto the horse's back. He was rather impressed with how well-tempered it was, remaining calm even with an unfamiliar rider in the saddle. He stroked its neck in thanks for tolerating him before reaching down to pull Merlin up in front of him. It took the two of them awhile, but eventually he and Rordan were able to get the warlock up without causing him any undue pain (though it was rather hard to tell, honestly, since his unconscious expression never seemed to change no matter how they moved him).

Grabbing the reins with one hand, the prince wrapped his free arm around his servant's waist to make sure he wouldn't fall off, taking all of Merlin's weight against himself. It was a bit uncomfortable, but he didn't much care. He would deal with it for however long he had to. It was a small price to pay for the comfort of his friend.

"You should head for the woods," Rordan told him, drawing the prince's attention. "There's a cave not too far in. You'll be safe there for a while."

Something dawned on him then, something that he probably should have noticed the moment he realized that there was just one horse waiting for them.

"You're not coming?" he asked, though he was pretty sure he already knew the answer.

"No. Not yet, anyway. There are still a few things I need to take care of. With Barragh gone, we're finally free, but there were those who were loyal to him, and I doubt they'll take his passing well. I need to stay here for a bit and make sure nothing happens."

The look on his face must have betrayed his discontent, because Rordan was suddenly grinning at him, though it was his voice more so than his expression that managed to reassure the prince.

"I _will_ meet you there, I promise. Until Merlin is well and you're both safely back in Camelot, I won't leave you. I swear it."

Being a prince and the leader of Camelot's knights, Arthur knew an oath when he heard one. He couldn't help but return the smile.

"I'll hold you to that."

Rordan's grin grew brighter with those words, but at the same time it took on an almost knowing, amused sort of tint. His eyes were shifting between the prince and the warlock, and Arthur found himself growing a bit uncomfortable under the man's dark eyes. He didn't particularly like that expression. He blamed Merlin for that. Merlin was a master at the "I know something you don't want me to" look, which usually resulted in a good amount of teasing (at Arthur's expense) and banter (at both their expense) and often ended with Merlin fleeing the room before anything could be thrown at his head (definitely at Merlin's expense, though he liked to believe that it was all in good fun on both their parts).

"What?" he asked a bit skeptically, wanting to know why Rordan was looking at him like that. The guard merely shook his head, but the amusement was still very much there.

"It's nothing, really. Just a bit surprised is all. I didn't believe it at first, but I guess the two of you really _are_ friends, aren't you."

…_Oh._ So he had figured it out. Well, that certainly explained the smile.

"How did you find out?"

"I had my suspicions after you so readily agreed to help him and all, but it was actually Owyn who confirmed it for me. I'll admit, I still had my doubts even after that, but I think you've proven them rather unfounded. I know now that I can trust you with him, even after you make it back to Camelot."

Arthur wasn't quite sure what to say. He barely knew where to start. He had never been very good with the emotional stuff, and he knew that whatever he said would come out sounding a lot more sentimental than he wanted it to, but at the same time he had to say something. Rordan cared about Merlin, saw him as a precious friend, and because of that, the trust he was placing in Arthur was nothing short of an honest gift.

"Thank you." He didn't know what else to say. Nothing would be adequate. _Thank you for trusting me. Thank you for looking after him. I don't know how I could ever repay what you've done for us._

Rordan only nodded, his smile unwavering.

"Take care," he told the prince, "and I'll see you soon."

With one final nod and a hasty farewell, Arthur gripped the reins tightly and urged the horse forward. Before long they were making their way across the plains and away from the castle. He was tempted to look back, but he kept his eyes trained on the path ahead. They needed to reach the forest where they would be safe until Rordan returned, and he _would_ return. Even though Arthur had only just met the man, he knew he could trust him. Merlin did, after all, and that was good enough for him.

It proved to be a long ride across the grassy plains. Not only did he have to keep their speed slow for Merlin's sake (he wasn't sure if he'd be able to hold onto him if he tried for anything more than a quick trot), but the darkness made it difficult to navigate. However, even though it had taken a lot longer than he would have liked it to, they eventually made it to the edge of the forest. He quickly picked out a path that the horse could follow and then very carefully made his way onward. He kept his eyes open for anything that looked like a cave, but once again, the darkness made it rather difficult. This was why riding after dark wasn't a good idea (though to be fair, he hadn't had much of a choice in the matter). It was easy to get lost when you couldn't see where you were going—not that he had actually known where he was going to begin with, but that was beside the point.

In the end he eventually did find the cave Rordan had mentioned, nestled deep in a natural valley of the forest, surrounded by tall trees and a small but winding brook. It was more than he could have asked for in a temporary resting place.

However, as it turned out, he wasn't exactly alone in the quiet little valley, and whereas he had been expecting to find the cave when he entered the forest, he certainly hadn't been expecting _this_. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he was pretty sure that he probably should have been. However, that fact wasn't enough to keep him from gaping at the young man standing just outside the mouth of the cave, returning Arthur's shock with a smile that was far too jovial for a man who had probably been standing there for _hours_ on end, just waiting for someone to show up.

Then again, when did anything like that ever seem to matter to that man? If "carefree" had a face, he was certain that one would be it.

With that irritating but at the same time extremely welcoming, sight-for-sore-eyes smile plastered on his face, the young man raised his hand in greeting with a solitary wave.

"Hello."

He didn't say anything else, only stood there, looking like an idiot (in Arthur's humble opinion, anyway). Had he had a free arm, he would've liked to reach out and smack him upside the head. Instead he merely shook his own and hung it with a sigh.

"'_Hello_?' Really? That's all you have to say? It's been over a week!"

"Seemed appropriate."

"What the hell happened to you?"

"Oh, you know. This and that."

"_Owyn_…"

The guard just smiled even brighter, trying to look innocent and failing rather spectacularly, and even though a part of that irritated the prince to no end, he couldn't help the swell of relief that came along with it. One more little piece of his life had just slotted back into place. It was comforting to know that the other man was alright, that he had made it out of the castle after being locked up by Barragh. It was also comforting to know that he wasn't alone anymore, that there was someone there to help him, because as desperate as he was to treat the injured young man in his arms, he knew he couldn't do it all alone. He was no physician, and he didn't have the materials or the knowledge necessary to take care of Merlin.

He was pretty sure that Owyn did. Given what he knew about both Owyn and Rordan, he was certain that the guard hadn't traveled into the forest without knowing what to expect (and it was kind of heartwarming in a way, because he had come into the forest to wait for them, as if he had already known that everything would turn out alright, that the two of them _would_ show up. It was a vote of confidence that Arthur wasn't entirely sure he deserved but that he was grateful for nonetheless).

"Here," Owyn began, drawing Arthur away from his thoughts as the guard began to approach him, "let me help you. Wouldn't want either of you falling off, after all."

Though it was said with that teasing grin, the intent behind it was genuine, and so Arthur very carefully maneuvered Merlin down until Owyn could pull him from the horse. Once the servant was safely down, Arthur dismounted and tied the reigns to a nearby tree—didn't want the horse to go wandering off without him—before following after the guard as he brought Merlin into the cave. It was rather dark inside, the only light being the dying fire that Owyn had likely built some time ago, but with a few added logs and a bit of prodding, the flames were soon sprang back to life, casting their light along the walls.

As the shadows disappeared and the world around them was bathed in an orange glow, Arthur found his eyes drawn to a face that was no longer smiling. In all his encounters with Owyn, that was an expression he had only seen a few times but one that was probably close to a second nature for the man. Their was anger there as well as regret as those bright eyes took in what had been done to the young warlock in front of him, but it was the indignation that felt the most familiar, that seemed the most natural. He was pretty sure that most of them in that castle knew that feeling rather well.

Sitting down close to the fire, the prince continued his silent observation, waiting to see what Owyn's verdict would be, but he found that with a different angle came a different view and a new perspective. His chest tightened a bit at what he saw. He had missed it in the cover of darkness, where the only light had been from the moon between the treetops, but in the firelight he could see it plain as day.

It seemed that Owyn hadn't been as lucky as he had previously thought. The right side of his face was bruised. The marks were fading, but it was quite obvious that someone had punched him in the face. His left hand was also bandaged, looking a bit swollen when compared to his right. That could have been caused by any number of things, but how it had happened didn't particularly matter. What mattered was that it had happened at all and that it probably _wouldn't_ have if Barragh hadn't found out that the guard had been helping him.

Whatever Owyn had suffered through while locked away had essentially been Arthur's fault, and he couldn't help but feel guilty about it.

Maybe he couldn't make things right with Merlin yet, but for now he could at least try to fix this.

"…I heard from Rordan," he began softly, "that you were imprisoned by Barragh."

He was expecting maybe a wince or a flinch of some kind, but Owyn just kept right on examining his patient and didn't even bother to glance up at the prince when he responded.

"That I was. At first I thought he was going to get rid of me, but as it turned out, without me, he would've lost access to my estate, so he decided to just lock me up instead. Bit ironic, really, that my 'leverage' ended up being used to my advantage for a change."

He honestly couldn't tell whether the man was just pretending not to be upset by it or if he genuinely just _wasn't_. Either way, it didn't change the fact that he owed the guard an apology.

"…I'm sorry."

This time Owyn did look up. Arthur wasn't sure what he had been expecting to see on that face, but the absolute shock on it rather threw him off.

"What? What for?"

"I… It was my fault. Barragh imprisoned you because of me."

"No he didn't."

"Yes, he did. Rordan told me he did."

"No, he locked me up because _he's_ a sadistic twat and _I_ apparently talk too much. It had nothing to do with you."

He should have been glad that Owyn didn't blame him for what had happened, but for some reason it only made him frustrated with the man. Didn't he know how hard it was for him to apologize? It wasn't something he did very often, after all. What was wrong with him? Why couldn't he just accept it like he was supposed to?

"That doesn't change the fact that it wouldn't have happened if it wasn't for me."

"…Do you _want_ me to blame you?"

"_No_, I just…I mean, _look_ at you! Look at what happened! You were _clearly_ punched in the face by someone!"

"Hey!"

"How are you not at least a _little_ bit mad about it?"

The look Owyn gave him after that was somewhere between disgruntled and incredulous, or maybe insulted and resigned. It certainly wasn't an expression he had seen there before. It actually made him a little nervous. He suddenly felt a lot like a child about to be scolded for pilfering sweets from the kitchens.

"For your information," the guard began slowly, talking as if he were explaining something to an unruly kid…or an idiot, "I did _not_ get punched in the face—I _punched_ someone in the face. There's a big difference."

"What…?"

"Nearly broke my hand, but he definitely deserved it."

"Then what about the bruises?"

"Hmm? Oh, I accidentally bashed my face against the side of my cot the other day. I'm probably lucky I didn't poke my eye out."

"How…?" In the end he just sighed. "Never mind. I don't want to know."

Suddenly he felt exhausted. He blamed Owyn for that. He had forgotten how frustrating the man could be after not talking to him for more than a week. He knew there was more he had wanted to say, but for the life of him, he couldn't remember any of it anymore. Why was it that nothing ever seemed to go the way he expected it to even when it should have been fairly simple to predict?

"…Hey, Arthur."

The prince looked up from where his attention had drifted to the flames. Owyn was once again taking stock of Merlin's wounds while digging through the bag at his side. There was a soft, small smile on his face as he glanced at the prince.

"I know you feel responsible, but you really shouldn't. There really is no need for you to apologize. Not that I don't appreciate it, but in the end, it wasn't your fault. All of us, we made our own choices. Sure, maybe we could have done a better job, but that's beside the point. What matters is that we made them. It was _my_ choice to help you and Merlin, and so everything that happened to me as a result of that is _my_ fault, no one else's. I knew what I was getting into, but I did it anyway, because I believed it was the right thing to do. So, how about instead of seeking blame for the things you _aren't_ responsible for, you start focusing on taking care of the things that you _are_."

With a simple flick of his head, the guard motioned to the unconscious warlock lying on the ground before them before handing the prince a water skin and a cloth.

"I know you're not used to this, so I'll help you out, but I think it would be best if you did as much as you can on your own. I'm sure you believe that you have a lot to make up for, and I know that nothing I say is going to convince you otherwise, so this can be a start. After all…he's important to you, right?"

He had been asked that question before, in a different way and under different circumstances, but the meaning behind it was still the same, and this time around he didn't need to think about it.

As he took what was offered to him, ready to move forward once again, he gave his answer without hesitation.

"Yes."

_A thousand times over, yes._

* * *

**A/N:** Well, I hope you all enjoyed the chapter :) And look, no cliffhanger! Hurray! Though I do enjoy writing them, I'm sure you're all rather tired of them. I must say I rather enjoyed writing this chapter. It came really easily too, which is always nice. It's kind of a winding down chapter after all the crap that happened in the last few, and Arthur learned a few more things (oh Owyn, how I love writing you :)_  
_

Anyway, again, thank you so much! I honestly can't believe how many people are reading this. So many alerts and favs, I'm rather in awe, and so many reviews. I've never written anything, fanfiction or otherwise, that's received so many so quickly. Thank you. You've no idea how much it means to me. You guys make my crappy work days so much more bearable. So thank you to everyone reading, and I hope you'll stick with me till the end, and I certainly hope I don't disappoint :) I'll certainly do my best.

Until next week!


	22. Chapter 22

**A/N:** So tired...don't know how I managed to get this done. This chapter just kept going. 5,800 words and one read through. Hopefully it turned out okay.

**Title: **Of Twisted Morals and Human Weaponry  
**Author: **BeyondTheStorm  
**Rating: **T for...well, a lot of things. Some language, some violence, the whole general situation, a bit of torture, etc.  
**Characters/pairings:** The cast is as follows: Merlin, Arthur, an antagonist, two guards with names, and a few without. Merlin and Arthur are the main focus of this story. Oh, and no pairings. Only friendship here, though if you want to read more into it, feel free. Whatever floats your boat :)  
**Spoilers: **Um...none, as far as I know.  
**Warnings: **Abuse, a bit of torture, me being descriptive  
**What to expect:** Bromance, introspection, angst, some whump, H/C, lots of drama, lots of worrying...oh, and some magic. Can't forget the magic :)

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Merlin :)

Not much to say this time, just that I hope you all enjoy the chapter :) It was actually a lot of fun to write despite not knowing exactly where I was going when I started writing it. But I'm sure many of you have been waiting for something like this to happen :)

Onward!

* * *

CHAPTER 22

He wasn't sure how long it took—keeping track of time wasn't exactly easy at night—but between both himself and Owyn, they were able to clean and patch up each and every wound that Merlin had been dealt during his stay with Barragh, and there had been a _lot_ of them. Thankfully most of them had turned out to be superficial much like he had originally suspected, but there had still been more than enough to keep the two of them busy for quite a long while. The gash on the warlock's head had probably been the worst, resulting in a great deal of time, water, and bandages, and the whole time he had been cleaning it, Arthur had been watching, knowing that no matter how careful he was, it would still probably hurt. However, Merlin's face had betrayed nothing, not even a wince or a grimace. He may as well have been dead to the world for how lax his expression had remained.

Upon voicing his concern about the warlock's complete lack of response to pretty much everything they were doing to him, Owyn had tried to reassure him that it was normal, that people who had been through a great deal of pain, who had suffered severe injury or trauma, could sometimes fall into a deep sleep. He had told him not to worry, but the look on the guard's own face had rather ruined any chance of that happening. It was obvious that Owyn was just as concerned as he was, which was understandable given all that had happened. After all, it wasn't just the head wound that they had to worry about; Merlin's back was a complete mess as well.

It seemed that Barragh, being the uncaring bastard that he was, hadn't allowed the lash marks on the warlock's back to heal. Sometime during the last three days, the still healing wounds had been torn back open and rather carelessly patched back up. Just the sight of them had been enough to reignite the prince's anger, and Owyn had been forced to take over for a while until Arthur could unclench his fists and get his hands to stop shaking. He may have gotten used to seeing the sheer brutality that some men were capable of—all part of being a prince and a knight—but it never got easier, and the fact that it was _Merlin_ who had been put through such cruel treatment only made it worse.

He swore to himself that he would do better, that he would try harder, that he would _never_ allow something like this to happen to his servant again. Merlin was his friend and his responsibility, and even though he _had_ managed to rescue him in the end, he still couldn't help but feel as if he had failed in some way.

He desperately wanted the warlock to wake up so that he could talk to him, so that he could say all of the things that he knew he needed to say, but seeing as how Merlin hadn't even twitched in the last few hours, it probably wouldn't happen anytime soon. He was just going to have to be patient for once—a difficult feat, surely, but after dealing with a servant like Merlin day in and day out for such a long period of time, he had learned a thing or two about being patient. He got the distinct feeling that Merlin would probably disagree with that statement, but that was really beside the point.

Besides, at that moment there was something far more pressing to deal with than Merlin's complete lack of consciousness.

"So," the prince began, motioning towards the warlock's right arm while addressing Owyn, "what do we do about that?"

On Merlin's arm was a brace, positioned just below his elbow. Arthur had seen it only once before, back when Barragh had told him that his servant was a sorcerer before dragging him from his cell. Back then the runes carved into it had been glowing, but they looked like nothing more than simple markings now. He wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not seeing as how he had no idea what the brace was even for. He wanted to just remove it, but he figured it would probably be a better idea to ask Owyn about it first. After all, when it came to magic, his knowledge was rather lacking.

"…I don't know."

…Well, that was wholly unhelpful.

"What is it for anyway?" Perhaps that question would earn him a more informative response.

"It prevents a sorcerer from using their magic."

Arthur got the feeling that he probably should've known that or at the very least suspected it. After all, it made a good deal of sense. It would probably be difficult to detain a sorcerer for very long without finding a way to suppress their magic.

However, something about that didn't quite add up. If that brace was supposed to keep a person from using magic, then how had Merlin managed to use his? He knew for a fact that he had, because that was the only explanation as to how he had escaped so many times. Was the brace perhaps faulty in some way…or was Merlin simply every bit as powerful as Barragh had claimed him to be? Was there _truly_ enough magic in him to bring down an entire kingdom, so much so that not even an enchanted, anti-magic band could ever hope to fully restrain it? The notion sounded ridiculous. Looking at Merlin, one would never suspect him of being capable of sorcery, much less being a sorcerer of incredible power. Lying there as he was, he looked quite small, young, vulnerable… He didn't look at all like the evil magic users that Arthur had been told stories about, that he had been raised to fear and to hate.

_So_ much of what he had grown up believing—of what his father had told him—had turned out to be wrong; of that he was now certain, but he was rather surprised with himself at how quickly he had come to accept that fact. He was pretty sure that it wasn't supposed to be easy, that having your beliefs dissected and torn apart until they were ultimately proven wrong was supposed to be a great deal more painful, more shattering, but in the end it hadn't been. Yes, he had had his doubts, but it hadn't taken long for them to clear away, for him to really take a look at what was essentially the very simple but honest truth. Actually, all it had really taken were a few wise words and the peril of a friend.

He knew that there was still a great deal he needed to learn, that it would take a little getting used to, but he also knew that everything would turn out alright. Even if it was a slow process, he _would_ take the time to learn. Whether it be about magic or about Merlin, he was ready to finally start listening, to start seeing. He had turned a blind eye for far too long.

Arthur took a deep breath as he let his thoughts settle before turning his attention back to the task at hand, namely the metal band on his servant's arm. He was about to reach for it before Owyn stopped him.

"Don't bother," the guard said, drawing the prince's attention.

"Shouldn't we take it off?"

"If it was that easy to remove, don't you think it would be off by now? It's not like a shackle. There's no key, no clasp, no trigger—_no_ way of getting it off by any normal means. Even if you were to pull on it with everything you've got, it still wouldn't budge."

"Then how are we supposed to get it off?"

"I don't know. I'm hoping that Rordan will have the answer when he gets here."

Arthur didn't particularly like the sound of that. It implied that very few knew how the brace worked. In fact, it was highly likely that only those who had been close to Barragh or who had possibly overheard or seen one being taken off would know how to do it. It was also possible that _no one_ knew, that Barragh had been the only one, but the prince didn't want to even consider that. It would be far too cruel an outcome after all the harm that had already been done. They simply had to hope that Rordan would know what to do once he returned. Even if it ended up involving some kind of magic in order to take it off, they could surely find someone who would be willing to help. Surely Merlin wasn't the _only_ good sorcerer in the world (though he'd probably be hard pressed to find one quite as self-sacrificing or as ridiculous as Merlin).

Arthur reached out once again and brushed his hand against the cold metal.

"Is it dangerous?" he asked. When Owyn didn't answer right away, he turned to look at the guard, and the uncertain look he saw there was enough to raise the alarm on the prince's suspicions. He found himself suddenly fearing the answer. "Is it?"

"Yes and no. It kind of depends on how you look at it. On its own, all it does is prevent a sorcerer from using their magic. Most of the adverse effects come from the sorcerers themselves. For some, the loss of that power is enough to drive them towards insanity. Merlin has actually dealt with it surprisingly well compared to most, though I suspect that's partially because he wasn't cut off from his power completely."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that even with that brace on, Merlin has still been able to use his magic. Nothing big, mind you, but just the fact that he could use it at all is remarkable. He's unbelievably powerful. Resilient too. Every act of magic while wearing that brace resulted in a great deal of pain, but he never stopped. He was determined to get back to Camelot no matter what. I've honestly never met another like him, sorcerer or otherwise."

_No, neither have I,_ Arthur thought with a smile as he watched his friend, reveling in every rise and fall of that thin chest, in every breath taken.

A hand on his shoulder pulled him away once again, and the look he found on Owyn's face was nothing short of kind.

"You should get some rest," he said. "I'll keep watch. I _know_ you're tired. I can't imagine you've been sleeping too well as of late."

No, he really hadn't. Ever since Barragh had dragged Merlin away, sleep hadn't come easily for him. He had been too lost, too worried and confused to do much of anything other than sit there and attempt to sort out his thoughts. Everything had just kind of bled together until three whole days had gone by with him barely even noticing. The passage of time had seemed rather unimportant in the midst of everything else that had happened.

Now, however, all those fears and worries and doubts had been resolved. Barragh was gone, Merlin was free, and he had finally come to terms with the truth about his servant, had found where he stood in regards to sorcerers and magic. His head and his heart had long since stopped hurting in that regard, and now that he was certain that everything was finally over, the exhaustion was starting to seep in. He had known that it would happen sooner or later—a person could only last so long on adrenaline and anxiety alone—but he had kind of been hoping that it wouldn't set in for at least another day or so. He didn't want Merlin to wake up only for him to be asleep.

"Will you wake me if he…?"

"Of course."

"…Alright." He figured he may as well get some sleep while he could.

After all, there was no telling what the morning would bring.

* * *

Dark. Everything around him was dark…which really _wasn't_ much of a surprise. He had kind of been expecting it, honestly. After all, he had been spending a lot of time in the darkness as of late. At first it had bothered him, but eventually he had just gotten used to it. In some ways he preferred it seeing as how the waking world seemed to be filled with a great deal of pain as of late. Almost anything was preferable to that, and he couldn't help but remember thinking that it wouldn't be so bad to just close his eyes and never have to open them again. At that point he had been willing to do almost anything if it would bring an end to the pain, to the feeling of his body being torn apart and set aflame. He wasn't sure how much more of that he could take.

If he opened his eyes, would it come back? He didn't really want to find out, but in the end it seemed he didn't have much of a choice. Regardless of what he wanted, his body was waking up and his mind was stirring. He could feel something kind of soft but lumpy underneath him as well as something warm covering him, and it appeared that his head was no longer resting against the hard stone floor but was cushioned on something a great deal more comfortable. Also, he didn't seem to hurt quite as much. Even the pain in his back had dulled to a mild burn, more of an irritation than anything else.

It was all rather strange. He wondered if perhaps something had happened while he had been sleeping. Of course, the only way to find out was to open his eyes, and he still wasn't entirely sure if he wanted to. What would be the point? Surely there was nothing waiting for him. Hadn't he already lost everything at the hands of a madman?

His magic, his freedom, his home, _Arthur_…

Hadn't Barragh already taken all of that away?

What could possibly be left?

_You won't know unless you open your eyes._

A part of him was tempted to ignore that (he was fairly sure that talking to oneself in such a way was a form of insanity), but a bigger part was suddenly reminded of something, of the last thing he had seen before closing his eyes. Honestly, he was tempted to pass it off as nothing more than a dream, because in the midst of his somewhat jumbled memory, that was what it felt like, but more than anything he wanted it to be real. He wanted to believe that what he had seen hadn't been a figment of his imagination, a pain induced hallucination, because as terrified as he had been at that time, one simple thing stood out above all the rest: _Arthur_.

The prince had been fighting Barragh.

Arthur _hadn't_ abandoned him.

He needed that to be true, and so even though he knew that it would probably hurt, that it could very well shatter what little peace he had been able to find, he decided to open his eyes.

The first thing he saw was light.

He had rather forgotten how bright the world could be.

Closing his eyes rather tightly in an attempt to fend off not only the too-bright light but the approaching headache, he attempted to turn his head only to find that moving even just a little was enough to make those somewhat dull pains turn into rather prominent ones. He groaned at the discomfort (or tried to anyway, but given how dry his throat felt he was pretty sure it sounded more like a strangled whimper). Maybe it really _would_ have been better to stay asleep for a while longer.

He was just starting to contemplate the benefits of going back to sleep and _not_ waking up for at least a week when a shuffling sound caught his attention.

In the end it only took two syllables and a hopeful voice to change his mind.

"Merlin?"

He knew that voice. Even if he slept for a hundred years, he would still remember it.

_Arthur._

With a great deal of effort, he forced his eyes back open, starting with just a crack. If he went too fast, he'd probably be blinded again. Once he felt a bit braver, he tried to open them at least halfway, which thankfully only resulted in a slight headache and somewhat blurry lines. It wasn't until the light finally dimmed a bit and the shapes around him stopped being so blurry that he decided to open his eyes completely.

He couldn't help but think that the sight that greeted him was worth every ounce of pain he had felt upon waking.

Kneeling at his side was the crowned prince of Camelot, the Once and Future King, his _best friend_, Arthur Pendragon.

"Merlin…" the prince sighed in a voice that the warlock could only describe as relieved. The look in his eyes and the smile on his face seemed to be full of relief as well, and Merlin couldn't help but wonder if Arthur had been there the whole time, just waiting for him to wake up. He kind of doubted it; even though _his_ world had a tendency to revolve around Arthur, he knew that the opposite didn't hold true, but at that moment he almost felt like it did. It was kind of a nice feeling, the thought of being that important to someone.

Merlin did his best to return the smile he was being given, and he succeeded to a degree, but when he opened his mouth to try and say something, even a simple greeting, his voice got caught in his throat. All that managed to come out was a series of harsh coughs that made his already sore body ache that much more. He was so busy trying to contain them and to _not_ curl up into a pathetic little ball (because if moving his head hadn't turned out well, he couldn't even imagine what trying to move the rest of his body would feel like) that he barely noticed when Arthur suddenly disappeared and then reappeared just as quickly with a water skin in his hands.

As soon as the coughing had subsided a bit, he felt a hand gently lift his head up and another press the lip of something cool to his lips. Before he knew it, water was flowing down his raw, burning throat, soothing away some of the pain. He drank it in almost greedily, not stopping until it ran completely dry. He sighed in relief, feeling at least ten times better than he had (which really wasn't all that much of an improvement, all things considered, but he would take what he could get).

Once he was comfortably lying on the ground again, he opened his eyes once more and took a good look at his surroundings. He was apparently lying in a cave of some kind, not too deep or too wide but big enough to provide shelter. Beyond the mouth of it he could see grass and dirt, trees, sunlight, could hear the sound of the wind blowing through the leaves, the chirping of birds, the babbling of a nearby brook. He took in a deep breath, reveling in how clean the air felt, how peaceful and _alive_ everything seemed.

How long had it been since he had last been outside, since he had been able to feel the warmth of sunlight instead of just the flames of a torch? It was incredible.

Turning his attention back to the prince, who was still kneeling next to him, he made a second attempt to say something. He knew his voice probably wouldn't last long, so he made it a point to ask the one question he really wanted an answer to, and even though he could feel the words catching in his still very raw throat, he more or less succeeded.

"What happened?" he tried to say, although what actually came out was more along the lines of "wha'apn." Close enough. Either way, he was pretty sure Arthur would still be able to understand. It was a fairly common question, after all.

However, the prince didn't say anything. Instead his expression seemed to fall as his eyes drifted off to the side. He ran a hand through his hair, messing up the already unkempt blond locks even further and looking far more anxious than Merlin believed he should. It was a simple question. Surely it didn't involve that much thought.

"Arthur," he called, his voice almost too hoarse to be recognized, but the response his attempt got him was immediate.

"Be quiet, Merlin."

As used to those words as he was, he couldn't help feeling just a bit dejected. The moment that Arthur had said them though, he seemed to catch himself, his eyes snapping back to Merlin's. The warlock figured that he must have looked just as pathetic as he felt, because the prince's expression immediately flooded with what could only be described as guilt.

"I'm sorry," he said, the words rushed but sincere, spoken more earnestly than any apology he had ever heard from the prince before. "I didn't mean it like that, I just…"

Seemingly at a loss for words, Arthur heaved a sigh and moved over a bit until he was sitting against the cave wall. Merlin kept his eyes on him the whole time, his earlier dejection replaced with curiosity and confusion. The prince was acting rather strangely, and as much as he wanted to ask him what was wrong, he wasn't sure if he'd be able to get the words out. Instead he simply waited for the prince to either explain himself or at the very least answer his earlier question. He really didn't like being left in the dark for too long. He wanted to know how they had managed to go from being locked in the castle to hiding in a cave, because for the life of him, he couldn't seem to make the connection.

"Sorry," Arthur said again as he stared at a point on the opposite wall. "It's just that you shouldn't try to talk just yet. For now it would be better if you just stayed quiet, though I _know_ that's difficult for you."

That last bit was said with a grin as the prince glanced down at him, one that Merlin couldn't help but return. It was something familiar, something normal, something that was just _them_. It felt good in the midst of so much uncertainty.

"Owyn said that your voice will eventually recover but that you'll need to rest it for a while to avoid causing any more damage."

"Owyn?" the warlock mouthed, knowing that even though the prince wasn't the greatest at reading lips (not that he was all that spectacular at it either), he would at least be able to understand that.

"Yes. I met up with him here. He's out gathering firewood at the moment."

A smile graced the warlock's face. So it wasn't just the two of them. Owyn had managed to escape as well. He was glad to hear that the guard was safe, that Barragh hadn't done anything too horrible to him. He had begun to worry when his friend had stopped showing up. He had thought the worst had happened.

Of course, Merlin still didn't know exactly _what_ had happened—not to him, not to Owyn, not to Arthur, not to anyone. The prince had yet to even touch upon the only question he had been able to ask before being silenced. He knew that if he tried to ask it again, the prince would probably scold him, so instead he waited until he knew he had Arthur's attention before carefully mouthing the words "what happened."

This time, even though that pensive expression returned, the prince answered.

"I killed Barragh."

Merlin's eyes widened, and before he could even open his mouth to form the word "how," Arthur was already explaining.

"Rordan. He came to me and said that he'd release me if I promised to help you. Obviously I said yes…though I would have done it anyway, promise or not." The prince turned to him with eyes both firm and pleading. "I would _never_ have left you there, Merlin. I know you probably don't trust me, not completely, not yet, but at the very least, I want you to trust in that."

_What…?_ He didn't understand. What was Arthur talking about? What did he mean by not trusting him? He _did_ trust him—maybe not with everything, but with a great deal more than the prince was obviously aware of. He tried to open his mouth to say just that, but before any of the words could even start to form, Arthur cut him off with both his words and the warning glare that accompanied them.

"What did I tell you about talking?"

Merlin closed his mouth and narrowed his eyes, doing his best to scowl at the prince since he clearly couldn't voice his frustration.

"You can argue with me all you want when your throat heals, but until then, just be quiet and listen."

"Fine," he mouthed, though he still wasn't happy about it. He never had been very good at staying quiet.

"Good. Anyway, as I was saying, Rordan released me and then told me where I could find you, but when I got there, it turned out that Barragh was there as well. I'm sure you can more or less guess what happened after that. It certainly wasn't easy, mind you. I'm not used to fighting with just a dagger. I need to remember to thank Rordan for that. I'm not sure what I would have done had he not lent it to me."

Merlin would have to thank him too, for helping Arthur when he hadn't been there to do so.

"…Merlin."

The warlock shifted his eyes back up to the prince's face from where they had drifted off, but for some reason Arthur wasn't looking at him. In fact, he seemed to be making it a point to _not_ meet his gaze.

"I know you can't answer me properly, but a simple 'yes' or 'no' should suffice."

Merlin nodded once (or at least tried to. His body didn't seem to be in much of a mood to listen to him) and then waited for the prince to ask whatever question it was that seemed to be weighing so heavily on his mind.

"When I was fighting Barragh, did you help me?"

His eyes widened a bit, his mouth opening to ask what he meant by that before remembering that he wasn't supposed to talk. He did his best to convey his confusion through his expression, and thankfully Arthur picked up on it.

"The dagger," he began, this time looking directly at the warlock. "During the fight, I lost hold of it, and it ended up halfway across the room."

His fingers twitched, a side effect of the full-body flinch that his abused body failed to carry out in response to those words. He tried not to let his sudden anxiety show, but he got the feeling that he was failing rather spectacularly.

"But somehow, when Barragh was about to run me through, it was suddenly right next to me. _Someone_ gave it back to me, and the only person I know who could've gotten it to me like that without even touching it…is you, Merlin."

The warlock couldn't help but close his eyes. Given the state he was in, it was the only defense he had left. He didn't know what else to do, and there were no words he could say. A part of him had still believed all of that to have been a dream or even an hallucination—it was hard to keep track of reality when every fiber of your being felt like it was on fire—but Arthur had rather prominently crushed any hope of that ever being the case.

In all honesty, he didn't remember much of the past few days. Everything that had been done to him had simply blurred together until he couldn't differentiate one moment from the next. He knew that it had been unbearable, that there had been times where he would have done just about anything to get it to stop. He knew that the reason he couldn't talk, the reason that his throat felt like it was on fire, was because he had spent hours screaming until he had completely screamed his voice away, his last words being a desperate cry for someone to just put an end to it, to everything, to him. He couldn't remember much, but he remembered the desperation and the hopelessness. He remembered wanting to die.

And just as he could remember the feeling of the world falling apart around him, he also remembered what had made him lose all hope in the first place.

Arthur _knew_. He knew about the magic. Barragh had told him.

He had ruined _everything_.

Nothing would ever be the same again.

"Merlin."

How could he ever expect Arthur to trust him again after he had lied to him for so long?

"Merlin!"

Oh how he wished he could just go back to believing that all of that had been nothing more than a dream, that the past few days hadn't happened.

"Damn it, Merlin, stop!"

Why did this have to happen?

"_Look_ at me."

Maybe it would've been better if he had never woken up…

"Merlin, _look_ at me!"

His eyes snapped open as his head was jerked just enough to grab his attention. He sucked in a sharp breath that got caught on the way down, escaping in what could only be described as a sob even though he hadn't the voice to shape it. His vision was blurry again, but this time it wasn't due to the light or from being closed for far too long. His eyes were wet. At some point he had started crying, the tears building up until they overflowed, leaving two clear trails down the sides of his face. He hadn't even noticed.

He took another breath and tried to calm down, but for some reason his body wouldn't stop shaking. The only part of him that seemed to be still was his head, and that wasn't through his own will but by that of the hands on either side of his face. Their grip was solid but light, almost gentle, applying only enough pressure to hold him still but not enough to restrain, to hurt. They very carefully turned his head until his eyes met a pair that were just as blue, and even though they weren't wet like his, the fear and the desperation he could see in them made him feel like they were mirroring his own.

In the end, what finally drew his attention, his focus, was the very thing that had pulled him from the darkness in the first place, the reason he had come back despite the pain waiting for him there.

A plea, soft and sad and hopeful.

"Merlin?"

He blinked just once to try and clear his sight before locking his eyes with Arthur's, and after one last searching look to make sure he truly had the warlock's attention, the prince began to speak.

"Thank you."

His eyes widened. Of all the things he had expected to hear, that hadn't been one of them.

"You saved my life. Even after everything I did, you still… I don't know if I'll ever be able to repay you for what you've done for me, but I'm going to at least try."

Merlin simply stared, too deep in shock to even think of something to say, let alone find a way to convey it.

"I'm sorry for reacting so poorly. I'm sorry if I made you think even for a moment that I would abandon you…that I didn't care."

Had the warlock not been so intently focused on every single word, he was certain he wouldn't have heard half of them given how quiet the prince had suddenly grown, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Merlin, I know about your magic. I know that you're a sorcerer, and I don't care. You're still _you_, and nothing will ever convince me otherwise."

He had very nearly started panicking again the moment the word "magic" left Arthur's mouth, but by the time the prince had finished, his heart had very nearly stopped as an indescribable feeling flooded through his chest. It was unlike anything he had ever felt before. His body stopped shaking as warmth spread to every inch, washing out every trace of the cold terror he had felt only moments before. It felt like relief, like unbridled joy, but at the same time it was so much more than that, something too big for any words to describe.

He wondered for a moment if maybe this was what it felt like to truly be free.

"I won't ask you to forgive me, and I know it might take a while for you to trust me, but I want you to know that I'm sorry, and that I still trust you. I _do_ have a lot of questions, but those can wait until you're healed, and I swear, when the time comes, I'll listen to whatever you have to say. Until then, I just want you to know that your secret is safe with me."

How long had he been waiting to hear those words? There had been days where he had believed that he never would.

Damaged voice or not, he _had_ to say something.

"Arthur," he called, his voice nothing more than a hoarse whisper.

"I thought I told you not to—"

"Thank you."

As much as _he_ hadn't been expecting to hear those two words, it seemed that Arthur hadn't been expecting them either. That slightly irritated expression he had donned while attempting to scold him for talking melted away in an instant, replaced by genuine shock but also just the slightest bit of hope, and in that moment, he realized that he had been wrong earlier. Perhaps everything hadn't been ruined after all.

It was true that a great deal was still broken around them, that they both still had a long way to go and a lot to make up for, but he no longer believed that it couldn't be fixed, that they couldn't piece everything back together again. It would probably take a while—like Arthur had said, there were a lot of questions to ask and an equal amount of things to say—but that was alright.

In the end they would find a way, because even though the world around them may have changed, nothing between them truly had.

* * *

**A/N:** Well, there you go :) I hope you all enjoyed the chapter. Like I said, it was rather a lot of fun to write even though I did get stuck quite a few times when it came to the dialogue. I just hope it turned out well in the end :) Emotional situations can be hard to write sometimes, but they're some of my favorite scenes to do.

So, anyway, while working on this chapter this week, I stumbled upon a realization while talking to my sister. I know I've made comments before about how this fic is a bit different for me, and I finally figured out why it feels that way. Out of all the things I have worked on, I have never written anything, fanfiction or otherwise, where the final chapter _wasn_'t the most dramatic moment—the final battle, everything coming full circle, the epic conclusion, etc, etc. I have _never_ had a winding down sort of ending before, and it feels kind of weird to not have something I'm essentially building up to. This might honestly be the first thing I've ever worked on where I don't have a clear cut ending in sight. I have possibilities but nothing definite. It's a bit worrying, but it's also kind of fun :) I'm sure everything will fall into place eventually. It usually does.

Anyway, thank you so much for reading. I'm glad you're all enjoying my fic :) If you want to review, I would love to hear from you, but like I've said before, please don't feel obligated. I'm not much of a reviewer myself, so I totally understand. Thanks again!

Until next week!


	23. Chapter 23

**A/N:** Well, here we are again. Another chapter, and me still unsure about how many more there will be (I'm kind of hoping to end on 25, but we'll see what happens. Seeing as how I originally planned on 15, I've kind of stopped guessing :)

**Title: **Of Twisted Morals and Human Weaponry  
**Author: **BeyondTheStorm  
**Rating: **T for...well, a lot of things. Some language, some violence, the whole general situation, a bit of torture, etc.  
**Characters/pairings:** The cast is as follows: Merlin, Arthur, an antagonist, two guards with names, and a few without. Merlin and Arthur are the main focus of this story. Oh, and no pairings. Only friendship here, though if you want to read more into it, feel free. Whatever floats your boat :)  
**Spoilers: **Um...none, as far as I know.  
**Warnings: **Abuse, a bit of torture, me being descriptive  
**What to expect:** Bromance, introspection, angst, some whump, H/C, lots of drama, lots of worrying...oh, and some magic. Can't forget the magic :)

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Merlin :)

So, despite the ridiculous amount of trouble this chapter gave me, I rather liked writing it. The ending took over a half an hour on its own (five lines. Five sodding lines), but overall I'm happy with it especially since the second half was completely a spur of the moment thing. I was actually going to jump right into when Rordan comes back, but it didn't feel quite right segueing into that from where I was, so instead I went for something completely different. It was rather fun, and I certainly hope you all enjoy the chapter :)

Onward!

* * *

CHAPTER 23

By the time Owyn returned from gathering firewood, Merlin was once again asleep while Arthur sat by his side, watching over him. It hadn't been too long after their conversation that the exhaustion had set in again and pulled the warlock back under, but this time around his expression was peaceful, at ease. He looked more like someone who was merely resting as opposed to someone who didn't have a choice in the matter. It was reassuring to see so much contentment on that face, to know that a good deal of fears and doubts had been laid to rest.

When Merlin had first started to panic, Arthur hadn't been sure what to do. In hindsight, he should have probably chosen his initial words more carefully, but at the same time there really wasn't a casual way to bring up the topic of Merlin and his magic. It was quite possible that regardless of how he had gone about it, the warlock would have panicked anyway, and the prince honestly couldn't blame him for that. It was a secret that had been kept for a long, long time, one that could have easily gotten him killed any number of times if anyone had ever found out about it, so it was perfectly natural to worry about someone's reaction to learning the truth. Even if he didn't like it, Arthur understood it.

He just wished that things hadn't happened the way they had. He wished that someone would have taken the time to tell him about the true nature of magic sooner, that he could have learned the truth long ago so that Merlin never would have had to fear him finding out, so that he could have told him himself.

Things were going to change; they _would_ change, no matter what the cost. No one should ever have to live with that kind of fear hanging over their head, with that kind of weight on their shoulders. He knew that it was impossible to change the law against sorcery while his father was still king, but he vowed to do whatever he could to protect as many people as possible. Even if all he could do was help to share the burden that had been placed on Merlin, he would do it without question. His servant had always been there for him. It was time to start returning the favor. That was what friends were for, after all.

"You seem rather deep in thought."

Arthur looked up from the makeshift fire pit that he had been staring into—the flames were long gone, unneeded in the light of day—and met a curious pair of green eyes above a seemingly casual grim. He watched as Owyn dropped his load of firewood off to the side of the cave before sprawling out on one of the blankets that they hadn't bothered to put away (there was no point in packing anything up since they couldn't leave until Rordan returned and Merlin was well enough to travel).

"So," he began as he brought his arms back and folded them behind his head, using them in place of a pillow, "care to tell me what's on your mind?"

The prince couldn't help but smile a bit. Trust Owyn to not only pick up on the fact that something had happened but to also realize that for once Arthur actually _wanted_ to talk about it.

"Merlin woke up," he said. Part of him wondered if maybe Owyn had already guessed as much, but the surprise that flashed across his face seemed genuine.

"Really? When?"

"I'm not sure. Maybe half an hour ago or so. He wasn't awake for very long."

"Did he seem alright?"

That was a loaded question, and both of them knew it. Obviously Merlin's physical health left a lot to be desired. It would take quite some time for him to fully recover. However, while those wounds would eventually heal, they weren't the only ones that required attention. The warlock had suffered greatly at the hands of his captor, and there was no telling what the weapons dealer had done to him. No one had been in that room aside from him and Merlin. It was impossible to know exactly what had happened in there.

Arthur was tempted to say yes, because he wanted to believe that he _would_ be, given a little more time to rest, but at the same time he knew he couldn't. It was impossible for him to make that claim after what had happened in just those few short moments.

"Sort of, I guess…maybe. It's hard to tell. He was probably in a lot of pain, and he couldn't really talk, so it would've been difficult to ask him too much about how he was feeling."

"So I _was_ right. Well, his voice should return in a couple days or so, provided he doesn't strain it. Did you make sure he didn't try to talk?"

"I tried, but he's rather stubborn." Merlin really wasn't good at being quiet. He had a habit of filling the silence…and maybe, just maybe, a part of that was because he didn't like being left alone with his own thoughts for too long. Merlin was someone who carried a great deal of secrets and lies, who hid behind a lot of false impressions and his own (more-than-likely genuine) clumsiness. However, Merlin was also someone who took a great deal to heart, who felt bad about even some of the smallest grievances, and so there was no way that all those lies and all those secrets wouldn't result in a great deal of guilt. It had to have been painful. It was a wonder how he could even stand while bearing all that weight. Merlin truly was so much stronger than anyone gave him credit for.

"Well, I suppose there's no helping that," Owyn said with a smile, and Arthur couldn't help but wonder just how much of himself Merlin had allowed these men to see. Did Rordan and Owyn know Merlin the same way he did…or did they know him better? Unhindered with having to keep his magic a secret, had they been able to learn more about him? He couldn't help but wonder what Merlin was like when he had nothing holding him back from being who and what he was, when he didn't have to draw a line for himself to follow. What would be different and what would stay the same?

There was so much for him to learn.

"…So?"

Pulling himself away from his thoughts, Arthur focused his gaze back on Owyn only to find the guard staring at him rather expectantly. He seemed to be waiting for something.

"So what?"

"_So_, how was Merlin? You didn't exactly finish answering my question. Was he…well…" Owyn shifted a bit, turning his eyes away as his voice trailed off. It was a rare thing to see him struggling for words; the man _always_ had something to say, and he usually knew exactly _what_ to say as well. Arthur couldn't fault him for it this time though, because there really was no easy way to ask. There were really no words that could ever make something like this alright, and so the prince decided to save him the trouble of searching (just this once, mind you. The next time Owyn found himself at a loss for words, he was definitely going to point it out. And laugh).

"He'll be alright." Owyn turned his head towards him again, clearly surprised, but Arthur paid it no mind. "I think in time, he'll be alright."

It was something he wanted to believe but also something that he vowed to make true. Even if Merlin wasn't alright, he would do everything in his power to fix whatever was wrong. He didn't want to believe that the damage done was irrevocable. He knew that it would take time, possibly a very long time, but together they _would_ get through it. He had to believe that, had to believe that the fear and the panic wouldn't last, that Merlin's very soft but very sincere "thank you" was a step in the right direction, was proof that everything would one day be alright.

Though honestly, he wasn't sure if he deserved it. After everything he had done and even more so for the things he _hadn't_ done, he certainly hadn't been expecting gratitude. He had been planning on spending the rest of his life, if necessary, earning back every ounce of the trust that he had lost as well as the part that he had never been able to earn to begin with, but Merlin had looked ready to give it all to him in that one moment. Though the words hadn't been said, it had felt like he was being forgiven.

"…Did something happen?"

Snapping out of his thoughts, the prince heaved an internal sigh. He probably should've seen that one coming. Curse Owyn and his perceptiveness.

"Sort of." He wasn't entirely sure if he wanted to talk about this, but given the man's nature, it was unlikely that the guard would leave him alone until he did. "When he woke up, he asked me what had happened, so I told him about Barragh. He was fine up until the point where I brought up how he had used his magic to help me. After that he started panicking. I don't know for sure what caused it, but I think it was probably because he remembered that I _knew_. I fear I didn't take it too well when I first found out."

"But you're alright with it now?"

"Yes. Magic or not, he's still Merlin. Nothing will ever change that. I don't care about the magic."

"Did you tell him that?"

"Yes." Arthur cast his eyes downward as he slumped against the wall of the cave behind him with a somewhat dejected sigh. "There were so many things I wanted to tell him, but that seemed the most important. I don't know what I was expecting afterward, but in the end, he…he thanked me."

"Of course he did."

"I'm not sure if I deserve it."

"Of course you do."

When Arthur didn't say anything, a sigh came from the other side of the cave, and even though he was still staring at the ground, he was able to hear the rustling as Owyn pushed himself up into a sitting position

"You know, for being called an arrogant prince, you certainly have a lot of issues with self-doubt. I don't think you realize just how important your words were or how badly Merlin needed to hear them. You're important to him. Though I didn't really get a chance to talk to either of you about it much before I got locked up, I at least know that. I'm not sure if you realize the true extent of it, but Merlin is fiercely loyal to you. I heard him tell Barragh once that he had sworn his loyalty to someone a long time ago, that his life and his magic were for them and them alone. That's _you_, Arthur. Even though you hated magic, even though he was afraid of you finding out he was sorcerer, he still believed in you enough to pledge his life to you. With his talents, Merlin could have easily gone to another kingdom and been revered for what he is, but instead he remained in Camelot and hid his magic, all for _you_.

"So don't sell yourself short, alright? You may not think you deserve it, but I'm pretty sure you do. You offered both your thanks and forgiveness to him, and with Merlin being who he is, how could you ever expect that he would do anything less?"

…There it was again, that feeling in his chest, like someone was squeezing his heart and lungs until he could hardly breathe, but this time it wasn't from worry or guilt or relief. He wasn't entirely sure _what_ it was. It was different from the rush he got from receiving praise, different from the pain he felt when he was proven wrong. His whole chest felt tight, aching with something he couldn't describe, and before he knew it, his eyes began to sting in a way that was familiar and yet not. The prince quickly raised a hand to cover them, his fingers pressing against his temples, while his other hand curled into a fist, clutching the fabric of his tunic where it rested over his heart.

He had never felt like this before.

Touched. That was the word. Grateful was another. He wasn't sure whether he loved or hated it.

Was _this_ what it felt like to be saved?

He bit his lip to try and keep it from trembling, but it was a losing battle. In the end he merely lowered his head further to hide his face.

"Thank you," he whispered, his voice coming out thick and so full of _everything_ that he wasn't sure if the words had actually been intelligible or not. In all honesty, he wasn't even sure why he had bothered to say them at all, but it had felt necessary, like they had needed to be said. He couldn't help but wonder if that was how Merlin had felt when he had thanked him.

"You don't have to thank me," Owyn said, but the words barely registered past the beating of his own heart and the burning behind his eyes. "I was only telling you the truth."

Arthur choked back what felt like a sob.

So _this_ was what it felt like, being saved.

* * *

When Merlin finally opened his eyes again, it ended up being a lot easier than the first time. There was no blinding light, no encroaching headache, and even the haze over his vision cleared up quickly. However, most of his surroundings this time were dark, lit only by the flickering of dying flames. He tried to move his head to get a better idea of what was going on around him, but that proved to be somewhat difficult. Apparently laying in one place for too long was a good way to become rather stiff. It certainly didn't help that most of him still hurt, even though it was only a dull ache. It also didn't help that moving his head made him feel just a bit dizzy, and the last thing he needed on top of everything else was to make himself nauseous; he head enough problems the way it was.

"Oh, you're awake."

Had he actually been capable of moving, he probably would've jumped, but as it turned out, all his body was capable of was a slight flinch.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to startle you."

Merlin very carefully shifted his gaze over towards where the voice was coming from only to see a very familiar face standing at the mouth of the cave, leaning against the wall. The warlock couldn't help but grin. It had been a long time since he had last seen that carefree yet undeniably warm expression.

Pushing away from the wall, Owyn made his way over to where the warlock was lying and sat down next to him.

"It's been a while, hasn't it?" the guard began, though it was obvious he didn't expect a response. "Sorry if I worried you."

Merlin was about to open his mouth and ask his friend about what had happened to him, but Owyn was rather quick to cut him off.

"Nope. No talking, remember? I'm pretty sure Arthur already told you that."

At the mention of the prince, Merlin quickly realized that he hadn't seen him yet. The talking hadn't even drawn his attention. Curious (and maybe a little worried), the warlock tried to look around, being careful about how he moved his head, and as soon as he turned his attention towards the fire, he found the prince. Arthur was sprawled out on the other side of the campfire, fast asleep with one blanket thrown over him and another rolled up to serve as a pillow. He looked rather peaceful, content, but at the same time he seemed exhausted, like he had just been through a great deal.

"Don't worry. He's alright, just tired," Owyn told him, prompting the warlock to turn his attention back to his current companion. "I think talking to me probably wore him out."

Merlin couldn't help but smile widely at that, chuckling silently to himself.

"…It's good to see you can still smile like that, after everything that's happened."

Surprised at the response, he looked up at his friend's face only to find that his grin was still there despite the sadness in his words, but it was softer, more subtle, and a little bit melancholy. He didn't like it. He wanted desperately to ask what was wrong but knew he'd only be scolded if he tried, so he simply mouthed the words and did his best to use his expression to get his intent across. Owyn was good at reading people (more than once Merlin had wondered if the man couldn't actually read his thoughts as well), so hopefully he'd be able to understand this time too. Sure enough, the guard stayed true to form.

"It's nothing, really. Well, nothing important, anyway. Even if I were to ask, it's not like you'd be able to answer right now."

He scowled a bit at that. He really didn't like this whole "no talking" thing.

"It's a bit funny, in a way."

Merlin very clearly gave him a look that said "how so," and even though he was hoping that his somewhat incredulous expression would make the guard smile again, it seemed that his grin only fell further.

"Well, I was just thinking about how odd it is that you seem to be taking the situation far better than the rest of us. It kind of makes me wonder why that is."

The warlock shifted just a bit, just enough to make it obvious that that question wasn't one he was comfortable with. Even if he had been able to answer, he wasn't sure if he would. To be perfectly honest, he didn't like thinking about it. He didn't want to remember any more of it than he already did. There was too much fear there, too much shame. If he didn't have to tell anyone, then he certainly wasn't going to. It would be better to just leave it behind. Pretending that it hadn't happened wasn't a possibility, so the most he could do was just move on. After all, there was no changing what had happened. It could never be undone, so there was no point in dwelling on it.

He probably would though.

Dwell on it, that is. Something like that wasn't easily forgotten or pushed aside. It was just something he was going to have to live with. One way or another, he would deal with it. It's not like he had much of a choice.

"Merlin."

Giving his attention back to the guard, he all of a sudden found himself rather at a loss. In the past two months, he had seen a lot of different expressions on that face, and even though this one wasn't exactly new—guilt had been a rather common thing amongst Barragh's guards, after al—he didn't quite understand why it was there now. .

"What?" he mouthed, knowing that even though the guard wasn't really facing him, Owyn was still probably watching from the corner of his eye.

"I'm sorry."

_Not this again._

The sorcerer huffed in response (or at least tried to). If rolling his eyes hadn't been more likely to result in dizziness than the proper conveyance of his exasperation, he definitely would have rolled them, but instead he simply had to settle for glaring to get his point across.

_Why_ did people keep apologizing to him?

Owyn laughed a bit at the look he was receiving, much to both Merlin's delight and his chagrin.

"Oh, I know that look. You probably think I'm being silly, and I probably _am_, but just this once I think I'll take a page from Arthur's book and apologize anyway, because I just feel like I should."

With a sigh, he settled himself against the wall, eyes peering out at the darkened world beyond their small shelter.

"You see, Rordan and I…we made a few mistakes. Apparently there is such a thing as being _too_ careful, even in a situation like ours. See, we had a plan to get you out of there. I won't go into the specifics right now—I'll tell you later once you get your voice back so that you can laugh at the sheer irony of it all—but we intended to go ahead with it once you recovered from that first set of lashing. Needless to say things didn't quite go according to plan. You certainly did surprise us all though. Let's just say I'm _really_ glad I'm your friend and not someone who's on the receiving side of your ire…too often, at least.

"Anyway, me and Rordan spent a lot of time thinking after that, about how we should have told you what we were planning. Maybe if we had, none of this would have happened. I _know_ it's pointless to think about it. You can't change the past. I also know that it _isn't_ my fault, not really, but at the same time I can't help but feel like it is. Heh, maybe I shouldn't have lectured Arthur after all. Turns out I'm just as bad as he is when it comes to placing blame…"

A soft tug on his pant leg suddenly caught his attention, and Owyn found himself turning back to Merlin, surprised at the sudden movement. Sure enough the warlock had managed to move his arm just enough to be able to grab the material between two fingers. He wondered if maybe the boy had been trying to get his attention for a while and had only just now succeeded. Owyn hadn't even realized just how far his attention had strayed until he was pulled back in, his eyes settling on the ones peering back at him.

The warlock closed his eyes for a moment and slowly shook his head before opening them once again and meeting his gaze head on. Funny how such a simple act could mean so much. Merlin _couldn't_ talk. His voice wasn't strong enough to convey much of anything, and it wouldn't be for quite some time yet, but sometimes words weren't necessary. Sometimes they only got in the way. It was true that he often relied on his words, that he knew how to weave them, how to use them in order to get the outcome he wanted, how to say things that would often make people think or sometimes even rethink. He could almost always find the words that needed to be said as well as know when and how to say them.

However, what it really all came back to was the ability to read people, to emphasize, to _understand_. The right words would always be wasted if given to the wrong person.

When he had first met Merlin, it hadn't taken him long to realize that the warlock was anything but an open book. He kept the important things closely guarded, locked away just as tightly as his secrets, but at the same time he was honest and expressive. He wore his emotions on his sleeve, and if he wanted to get something across, he could, with or without the necessary words. All he needed was a simple look, because as secretive and as closed off as he could sometimes be, those eyes could hide _nothing_, not even his magic.

Perhaps it was a good thing that words weren't always needed, that sometimes there just wasn't a right thing to say, because what Owyn saw on that earnest face had him at a complete loss for any of them. His eyes widened a bit as he stared at an expression that was nothing short of understanding. Everything he had said and everything he had felt was being mirrored back at him. He couldn't help but wonder if he was only imagining it. Merlin had every right to blame them. He had every right to be angry about what had happened—surely they had all wronged him in one way or another—but just like with Arthur, he wasn't showing any of that. There was no blame, no anger, no fear or animosity or sorrow.

It felt like he was being thanked, but _not_ for his apology. It was almost enough to seize heart for a moment, to make it difficult for him to breathe. He couldn't help but wonder if this was how Arthur had felt when hearing those two simple words, when being faced with the one thing he hadn't expected to see.

_Ah…perhaps I was wrong after all._

Acceptance, gratitude, understanding…

_So Arthur, this is what you meant._

Not for the first time, he found himself wondering just where Merlin's capacity for kindness came from. Forgiveness wasn't supposed to be easy. Surely no one could possibly be that kind.

_I think I understand now._

And yet somehow, _somehow_, Merlin just was.

* * *

**A/N:** Well, that's all for now. Tiny bit shorter than the last few, but still rather lengthy. I hope you all enjoyed it!

As always, I want to say thanks to everyone who took the time to read this. And can I just say quick...oh my gosh, over 1,000 reviews. I've _never_ gotten that many for anything before, so thank you so much! You've no idea how happy you've all made me. Thanks so much to everyone who has favorited, alerted, reviewed, and simply taken the time to read this. I really appreciate it, so thank you :)

That's all for now. I'm heading off to bed (gotta be up in five hours...sigh).

Until next week!


	24. Chapter 24

**A/N:** Why do my chapters keep ending in places that I don't intend them too? Honestly, this one got a bit long. There was supposed to be another scene, but I didn't have time to write it (it would have made this chapter _way_ too long). So instead it'll just have to be put in next time I suppose :) Which is fine. It means lots more drama next week.

**Title: **Of Twisted Morals and Human Weaponry  
**Author: **BeyondTheStorm  
**Rating: **T for...well, a lot of things. Some language, some violence, the whole general situation, a bit of torture, etc.  
**Characters/pairings:** The cast is as follows: Merlin, Arthur, an antagonist, two guards with names, and a few without. Merlin and Arthur are the main focus of this story. Oh, and no pairings. Only friendship here, though if you want to read more into it, feel free. Whatever floats your boat :)  
**Spoilers: **Um...none, as far as I know.  
**Warnings: **Abuse, a bit of torture, me being descriptive  
**What to expect:** Bromance, introspection, angst, some whump, H/C, lots of drama, lots of worrying...oh, and some magic. Can't forget the magic :)

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Merlin :)

IMPORTANT: Hopefully that drew your attention :) Okay, I'm going to say this now so that there are no misunderstandings later and so that no one gets their hopes up: I do not plan on writing the actual return to Camelot. I've been asked quite a few times about that this week, so I figured I should be straight with you all :) I said this before, back around CH 2 or 3 (can't remember which one it was in), but this fic has no specific point in the canon timeline. When it takes place is meant to be ambiguous. Obviously it's before the end of season 3 since Arthur is still a prince and Uther isn't broken, but aside from that, it's not tied to any specific season. I've been very careful about not touching upon specific canon events except for a few very early season 1 ones, and I have no intention of changing that now. That's why there has been no mention of Morgana or the dragon, and that's why I don't intend to write out the physical "return" to Camelot. This story was never really about that to begin with. I am sorry if this disappoints anyone, but I just don't intend to write it. There's far too many little nitpicky things I would have to address if I did in order to actually make it believably work with the way I designed this story, and I just feel like that would retract too much from what I wanted this fic to be. I know I'll probably get some comments on this, and that's fine. I welcome opinions. I just wanted to give my side of it.  
I really hope that all made sense. I'm not always good at explaining myself :)

So, anyway, depending on what happens when I start the next chapter, there is every chance that this could turn out to be the second to last chapter. It's either second to last or third to last, but I just thought I'd say it so that in case the ending does come next week, it doesn't creep up on anyone :)

Onward!

* * *

CHAPTER 24

In the end, things seemed to happen in much the way that Owyn had said they would. Three days after having arrived at the cave—two since Merlin had woken up the first time—the warlock's voice began to return. It was still nowhere near as strong as it had once been, but progress was still progress, no matter how small the amount. However, much to his servant's frustration, he and Owyn had still told him not to talk too much. Of course, Merlin being Merlin, he had pretty much chosen to defy them whenever he could get away with it, which pretty much equated to one-word answers, one-word comments, and occasionally a few witty (insolent) remarks, all whispered but still very audible.

Apparently two days of not being able to say _anything_ had pushed him well past his capacity for silence, and though he would never admit to it, Arthur was almost grateful for that. He wasn't used to Merlin being so quiet, and even though there had been times in the past where he had desperately wished for a way to just make the boy shut up for a few minutes, he genuinely missed the mindless prattle, the cheerful chatter, and the friendly banter. It just felt like something was missing without it. It was funny in a way just how quickly his attitude had changed (though to be honest, he suspected that it hadn't really changed at all but that he had simply come to accept a great deal of things that he hadn't been willing to acknowledge before, and perhaps one day he'd even be able to say them aloud without tripping over the words).

As Arthur carefully picked through the supplies they had left in order to find some bandages—Merlin would need to have his changed soon—he began to wonder how much longer they would be staying in their makeshift shelter. It would probably be only another day or so before the warlock was well enough to ride. However, there were two problems with setting out for Camelot anytime soon. One was that the trip back would be a long one given they only had one horse and their supplies were running a bit low. The other was that Rordan head yet to meet up with them. That was actually a bit concerning. Was it possible that something had happened, or was it simply taking him longer to sort out the castle's affairs than they had expected? He certainly hoped it was the latter.

Upon finding no more bandages amongst their bags, he also hoped that the man would come fully equipped with not only food but medical supplies as well. They were starting to run low on rather a lot of things actually (hunting was always an option for food, of course, but it was rather difficult to catch anything without traps or a crossbow. A sword could only do so much). Before setting off for Camelot, they would have to try and stock up on as much as they could, which would probably consist mostly of water, berries, and nuts—not the greatest selection, but beggars can't be choosers. Hopefully they'd be able to stop in a village along the way and get at least one decent meal and a good night's sleep while on the road.

"Find any?"

Arthur turned towards Owyn as the guard walked up behind him, peering over his shoulder at the bag he had been digging through.

"No."

"Well, no worries. I'm sure Rordan will bring some."

"Shouldn't he be here by now?"

"Not necessarily. It depends on how much had to be done. Remember, he's not only making sure everything turns out alright now that Barragh's gone, but he's also looking for a way to get that brace off of Merlin. Researching can take a while."

"I suppose so," Arthur agreed half-heartedly. He was about to go back to rummaging through their supplies when the sound of footsteps drew his and Owyn's attention. They looked back at the cave only to see Merlin standing at the mouth of it. Arthur was fairly certain they had told him not to move; after all, he still wasn't in the greatest shape, but in all honestly, the prince wasn't surprised. In addition to "not talking," Merlin was also fairly bad at "not moving" as well. Despite being a servant, he had never quite mastered the art of standing still. Even during council meetings, he always seemed to find a way to fidget even if it was only shifting his weight.

Plus, Merlin was simply bad at listening to orders. Arthur had learned that rather early on, and it wasn't something that had gotten any better over time. He rarely did as he was told. They honestly shouldn't have expected anything different from him just because he wasn't at full health.

"Merlin, I thought I told you to stay put," said Arthur, part exasperated and part concerned with just a little bit of amusement. The look his servant gave him only made it harder to fight the grin that was tugging at the corners of his mouth. Despite leaning heavily against the cave wall for support, Merlin looked every bit as disgruntled and defiant as he probably felt.

"Wanted some air," he responded shortly, his voice still rather hoarse. Three words was an improvement though. Perhaps tomorrow he'd be able to say an entire sentence without having to swallow in between the words (Arthur had given up on telling him not to talk seeing as how it hadn't done much good).

He and Owyn watched as the warlock very carefully moved outside the cave and then proceeded to lower himself to the ground. In the end he managed it without any help, choosing to sit with his upper back resting against the packed rocks and dirt behind him. It probably wasn't the most comfortable position to be in, but leaning back like that would keep the pressure off of his wounds, which were mostly below his shoulder blades. His back was healing much more slowly than before, and even though the wounds had closed up nicely, they were still a bit tender. The pain could be numbed with the help of salve and potions, but it couldn't be taken away entirely.

"You certainly are a stubborn one," Owyn said as he walked over to the warlock, ruffling his hair a bit. Merlin shot the guard a look, but it was rather hard to take him seriously when a grin was slowly spreading across his face. Arthur couldn't help but smile at the sight, grinning even more as the boy reached up to try and pat his hair back down. It faded rather quickly, however, when he saw the warlock freeze in place, eyes drifting to the band of metal below his elbow. Merlin's expression instantly fell as he lowered his arm and simply stared at the brace. Arthur wasn't sure if he had ever seen such a melancholy expression on that face before.

Not for the first time, he couldn't help but wonder if the brace was somehow hurting the warlock in some way. Just what did it feel like to be cut off from one's magic? He got the feeling that even if Merlin were in a position to explain it to him properly, he probably wouldn't understand. He knew very little about magic, and that included how it felt to use it, to have it, to exist alongside it. He had never thought too much about it before, had never bothered to learn anything about it aside from what his father had told him, but things were different now. He wanted to learn. If he was one day going to change the laws of Camelot, then he needed to know as much about magic as he could. He wanted to understand his people—_all_ of his people—and that included those with magic.

He would give them a home, a place in his kingdom. He would make sure that none of them had to fear for their lives again.

"Don't worry, Merlin," said Owyn, his voice snapping both the warlock and the prince out of their thoughts. It seemed that he had noticed Merlin's sudden melancholy as well. "We'll find a way to get it off, I promise. Believe me, if anyone can figure it out, it's Rordan."

At almost the exact moment that those words left his lips, the sound of footsteps began to drift into the clearing, accompanied by the rustling of fallen leaves. All three of them tensed up, both Owyn and Arthur reaching for their swords just in case whatever it was turned out to be unfriendly. However, their caution proved to be for naught when a familiar face emerged from the trees and stepped into the small valley.

"Well, speak of the devil," Owyn mused as he moved away from the cave in order to meet their visitor halfway. "Rordan! Aren't _you_ a sight for sore eyes. It's good to see you."

"You as well," the man responded with a smile, pulling his friend in for a brief one-armed hug. He walked a bit further into their temporary campsite before setting his two bags down next to the others. _Two _bags, which probably meant both medical supplies _and_ food, much like Arthur had been hoping for. A couple more blankets would certainly be nice too, a sleeping roll even better—not that he was expected one (beggars and choosers and all that).

Once he was done, Rordan took a quick look around their small dwellin, his eyes landing on Merlin first. Arthur just watched as the two of them grinned at each other, a silent conversation being shared with just a single look. There was a great deal of relief there on both their parts, as well as joy and understanding, and while watching them, he once again found himself truly fascinated by these people and their sheer capacity for compassion. They genuinely cared. There was absolutely nothing in it for them as he had once pointed out only for Owyn to actually agree with him. They had even gone out of their way and had even risked their lives to help both him and Merlin without expecting anything in return. People like that were rare, and yet for some reason he surprisingly found himself surrounded by them. Even in Camelot there were people like that by his side.

Perhaps he was just lucky, or maybe compassion simply wasn't as hard to find as he had once believed it to be. Either way, he couldn't help but think of it as something truly remarkable.

Once Rordan was done with his brief visual survey of his surroundings, Owyn quickly jumped right into addressing the things that all of them had been waiting for.

"So, how'd it go?" he asked, making his way over to a nearby stump and proceeding to make himself comfortable before giving the other guard his full attention. Apparently he was expecting a long conversation, and so Arthur decided to follow his example (for once) and walked over to where Merlin was sitting before settling himself down just a couple feet away. He shared a brief look with the warlock before the two of them gave Rordan their full attention.

"As well as could be expected, I suppose," he said. "We were able to subdue Barragh's followers."

"All of them?" Arthur asked, wanting to know for sure. The last thing they needed was some revenge-seeking twat coming after them.

"Yes. We outnumbered them almost ten to one, so it wasn't that difficult. They certainly put up a good fight though."

"So then what happens now? What will you do with them?" It couldn't be an easy situation to be in for any of them. It was kind of like being at a stalemate in a way. Would they simply leave Barragh's men locked up? Would the rest of the guards just all go home? If they did, then what about the ones that had followed Barragh? Leaving them to starve to death and rot in the cells seemed a bit inhumane for such kindhearted people, but it's not like they could simply release them either. It was unlikely that those men would just ignore everything that had happened. One of them could very well continue their lord's work. It also wasn't likely that they'd simply forgive and forget. Odds were that the other guards would be hunted down and killed for their past discretions.

"Well, if all goes according to plan, they'll be charged with treason," Rordan explained, "or at the very least conspiring in an act of treason."

"Treason?" He knew that Barragh had been power hungry, but had it really escalated that far?

"Yes. It's no secret that Barragh was creating weapons for his own purposes. He had every intention of seizing the kingdom for himself. When the king finds out the truth, he'll put a stop to it."

That sounded just fine and all, but if there was one thing that Arthur understood, it was the way the law often worked within a kingdom. Barragh, however insane, had been a nobleman. It was unlikely that his passing would be taken well, and even if his treasonous acts were to come to light and be believed, there was nothing stopping the fingers that would undoubtedly be pointed.

"But what's to keep him from placing the blame on _all_ the guards?" he asked, needing to know, because their dilemma was in part his fault. Barragh had died by his hand. He had essentially lifted one weight off their shoulders only to replace it with another. "You could all be tried for treason."

"Ah, that's where_ I_ come in."

Arthur turned to look at Owyn as the man jumped into the conversation with a rather self-satisfied and unconcerned smile on his face.

"I've told you before," he began, "that I'm a noble, and before Barragh came along, my family had quite a bit of influence—well, our name did, anyway. Over the years, I've been keeping a record of everything that Barragh was doing behind the king's back—who he sold to, what he was planning—including _who_ was working with him and who was being held 'prisoner.' Before I left, I made sure that everything was in order and that someone would be able to deliver it on my behalf. The king will take my word for it. He may be a bit power hungry at times, but he's a fair, reasonable man."

_Thank goodness._ The prince heaved a sigh, relief washing over him. He had been worried there for a moment. The last thing he wanted to do was cause trouble for these people. They had all been kind to both him and Merlin, and he would have hated it if that kindness ended up being returned with an execution order. He just wasn't the type of person who could stand by and allow innocent people to be punished for someone else's wickedness. Had it come down to it, he would have petitioned their king to pardon them. If he was truly a reasonable and fair man, then he surely would have taken Arthur's word for what really occurred.

When he finally brought his attention back to the two guards before him, he found them both staring at him with a knowing look and a smile. It was rather unnerving, even more so than usual, because where as he had come to accept the fact that Owyn just seemed to _know_ everything (or could somehow read his mind), he _wasn't_ used to getting that look from two people at the same time.

"What?" he asked a bit defensively, fighting the urge to shift uncomfortably. He was kind of hoping that his scowl would deter the two of them, but it only seemed to add to their amusement.

"You really _are_ a good man," Owyn said, sounding rather satisfied. Those words were rather familiar. He was pretty sure that the guard had said something to him like that before. He was about to comment on it (because if he was saying it like _that_, then clearly a part of him had still doubted it to an extent), but he never got the chance, because the rest of what Owyn had to say left him nearly speechless. "It's a rare thing for someone of your status to be so concerned about the affairs of another kingdom, let alone for a group of strangers who are essentially peasants by birth. You have a lot of compassion—a good trait for a future king. Don't ever lose that."

He didn't know what to say. He hadn't been expecting that—and wasn't it funny how he had so easily labeled these people as compassionate but yet hadn't even thought to apply the term to himself. He just hadn't viewed himself or his actions as being on par with the type of selfless acts he had seen in the last few weeks or that he had witnessed countless times before from Merlin. One glance at his servant told him that the warlock was in complete agreement with Owyn, the smile on his face having a very "I told you so" tint to it.

Why was it that he could so easily see something in another but was unable to see the same thing in himself?

He wasn't entirely sure if he deserved such praise, but he knew what would happen if he tried to question it, and so he saved himself the trouble and didn't bother to. His silence only seemed to add to their amusement, much to his chagrin, but thankfully they didn't focus on it for long thanks to Owyn. If there was one thing the man was good at, it was directing a conversation.

"So, Rordan," he began, his jovial grin fading to be replaced with a look that was a little more grave, "what did you find out about that brace?"

From the corner of his eye, Arthur saw Merlin flinch, the warlock's eyes immediately locking onto Rordan. It was easy to see how nervous that simple question had made him. Hope and dread warred across his face in equal measure as he waited to hear about whatever fate was awaiting him.

"Well…" the guard began, trailing off a bit as he fiddled with a small pouch at his side, looking both sad and nervous "nothing definite, I'm afraid. There _is_ a way to simply take it off, but it seems that Barragh really was the only one who knew how. We even questioned Neirin, but he didn't know anything either."

Arthur was tempted to ask what he meant by "questioned" but quickly decided that he would just rather not know.

"I feared as much," Owyn sighed. "Barragh _was_ the one who made it, after all. Despite being a complete madman, he was brilliant."

"So then what are we supposed to do?" Arthur asked, once again glancing at Merlin and hating the rather disheartened look he found on the warlock's face. "There has to be some way to get it off."

"Well, as far as I can tell, there are two ways," Rordan said. "The first would be to negate the magic. If there's nothing for it to react to, then it should just come off. However…" His dark eyes shifted to meet Merlin's. "I get the feeling that's not an option."

Merlin simply nodded in agreement, which only bothered the prince more.

"Why?" he asked, needing to understand why such a suggestion was being treated as an impossibility.

"Merlin's magic is too deeply ingrained," Owyn cut in, and Arthur assumed that he had taken it upon himself to answer due to the fact that Merlin had just been in the process of opening his mouth to try. Unfortunately for the warlock, it was a bit beyond his capabilities at the moment seeing as how it would take more than just two or three words to explain, much to the warlock's annoyance. "It's no different than blood or breath. The only way to fully negate it would probably be to kill him, and I think it's rather obvious why _that's_ not an option."

Arthur swallowed thickly as those words sunk in. Just one look to the side was enough to tell him that every one was true. The warlock had averted his eyes to the ground as he twisted the hem of his white shirt in his hands. Magic was a part of him, just as natural and vital as the blood flowing through his veins. It wasn't something that could be forgotten or denied, and even though it _could_ be tempered to a degree, it could never be fully restrained. For him it was purely instinct, a way to _live_, and yet he had been forced to hide it, to pretend it wasn't there, to exist as something less than what he was.

He didn't look the part. Sitting there like that, he looked nothing like a powerful practitioner of magic, but he _was_, and now that Arthur knew the truth, it was easy to see the toll that Camelot and its laws had taken on him. There was a weariness there, one that had probably always been there, hidden behind everything else that Merlin constantly put forward but never disappearing completely.

He wanted to erase it.

It could very well take years, perhaps even decades, but one day it _would_ disappear. He'd make sure of it.

Shaking himself from his thoughts, he turned back to Rordan and waited for the man to continue. He had said there were two possible ways to remove the brace, but so far he had only mentioned one. Seeing as how the first was impossible, the second was their only choice.

"What's the other way?" he asked, and much to his surprise, Rordan looked even more nervous about his next suggestion.

"The only other way is to force it off."

"But I thought that wasn't possible." He was pretty sure that Owyn had said it couldn't be done.

"It isn't, not by any normal means, but…we might be able to with this."

Opening the pouch that hung at his side, Rordan carefully pulled out a single metal band.

The reaction was immediate. Owyn sucked in a sharp breath, his eyes widening a bit in realization while Arthur simply looked on in confusion, and Merlin…

Merlin flinched back so violently that his head smacked into the rocks behind him. Whether he had hit it hard enough to hurt himself or not, the sharp thud was enough to draw all their attention.

He looked terrified.

"No," he said, his voice catching. He tried to move back, to get away, but the wall behind him made that rather difficult.

He didn't care.

He would do anything to get away from _that_.

"Merlin?"

He shook his head, his eyes never straying from the piece of metal that Rordan held in his hand. He knew that thing, knew it far better than he had ever wanted to. Its presence may as well have been burned into him; for as long as he lived, he wasn't sure if he'd ever be able to forget it. Barragh had made certain of that.

He had spent three days _screaming_ because of that brace. Just the sight of it was enough to narrow his field of vision, to block everything out except for the memory of that cell and the man who had taken great pleasure in his agony, who had only ever removed that horrific piece of metal when the risk of death became too great. There had been times where he had become so desperate in his pain that he had tried to tear it off, had dug his nails so far into his arm that the skin broke and bled, but nothing had helped. Nothing had been able to relieve him of that terrible pain, that feeling of being torn apart from the inside.

He had spent much of the third day begging for it to just _end_, either the pain or himself. At that time he hadn't cared which. He had pleaded until the words were no longer there, until his voice failed along with everything else.

"No," he begged, ignoring the hands on his shoulders that were trying to hold him still, trying to grab his attention. "No, _please_…"

He couldn't do it, not again. This time he really would break.

"_Mer_lin."

That familiar, commanding but concerned tone was enough to pull him away for a moment, to break through the blind panic that had washed over him. He was no longer in that room, no longer trapped with his tormentor. Barragh was _dead_. Arthur had killed him. There was no one left to hurt him, because the people who had risked their lives for him—his _friends_—never would. He tried to focus, to pull himself back, and when the world finally filtered in around him again, he found that it was Arthur who had grabbed his shoulder. His grip was firm enough to keep him still but not enough to hurt. He used that to ground himself as he willed his body and mind to calm down.

It wasn't until a few moments later that he realized that it wasn't just Arthur in front of him. Rordan was there too, his hands thankfully empty as he knelt down in front of the warlock.

"Merlin," the guard called, his voice soft and calming and perhaps just a little bit guilty. "Just listen to me for a moment, alright?"

It took him a while, but eventually Merlin was able to nod his head once to show that he was indeed listening.

"I _don't_ want to hurt you. I won't make you do anything you don't want to, I swear it, but I know you want that brace off, and this might be the only way."

He swallowed hard, trying to find what little he had of his voice again. A part of him knew that those words were true, that there really was no other way. Barragh had explained (gloated about) it to him once. That band could not be removed by any physical means or with any magic. _He_ had known how to place and remove it at will, but whatever secret that involved had died alongside its creator. Whatever Rordan had discovered was likely the only possibility left.

But at that point Merlin would have almost preferred to just sever his arm entirely.

Almost.

"You _do_ want it off, don't you?" Rordan asked. At least that decision was simple. The empty feeling in the pit of his stomach, that feeling that there was something missing—he _hated_ it. He wanted his magic back; he _needed_ it. Without his magic, he couldn't do anything. Without it, he couldn't protect Arthur, couldn't help him, and no matter what it came down to, he would suffer through whatever was necessary for the sake of his friend.

It was his duty to protect Camelot, his destiny to become the most powerful sorcerer that the world has ever known, and he couldn't do that without his magic. It felt too much like a part of him was missing.

"Yes." _More than anything._ He truly loved his magic. He would do almost anything to get it back.

"Then will you at least try it?"

He would. What other choice did he have? If it meant freeing his magic, he would do whatever was necessary.

"…Tomorrow."

Even though he was terrified, he would at least try. For Arthur and for Camelot.

For himself.

"Alright. Tomorrow it is."

* * *

**A/N:** I guess this is sort of a cliffhanger. It's nowhere near as evil as some of them though :) I do hope this chapter helped to answer a few questions about the braces. There's more to come on that next time, and like I said before, the next chapter might end up being the last. It'll all depend on what happens when I start writing it. After all, this part was only supposed to take up half a chapter, and instead it ended up being 4,600 words. If there's one thing I've learned about myself while I've been on this site, it's that I fail at estimating :)

Anyway, I just want to thank you all again for sticking with me, and I hope you're all still enjoying the story. Thank you for all the kind words and just for reading this fic. I've been having a lot of fun with it, and it's grown into something I never expected it to, so thank you :)

As always, if you saw any mistakes, please feel free to point them out, and I shall fix them post haste :)

Until next week!


	25. Chapter 25

**A/N:** So, as it turns out, this is actually the second to last chapter. I wasn't able to cram everything that's left into this one (plus, I really liked the way this one ended :) That being said, the next chapter will definitely be the final one, no matter how long it ends up being. My final chapters are always about twice as long as the rest. Might as well stick with tradition :)

**Title: **Of Twisted Morals and Human Weaponry  
**Author: **BeyondTheStorm  
**Rating: **T for...well, a lot of things. Some language, some violence, the whole general situation, a bit of torture, etc.  
**Characters/pairings:** The cast is as follows: Merlin, Arthur, an antagonist, two guards with names, and a few without. Merlin and Arthur are the main focus of this story. Oh, and no pairings. Only friendship here, though if you want to read more into it, feel free. Whatever floats your boat :)  
**Spoilers: **Um...none, as far as I know.  
**Warnings: **Abuse, a bit of torture, me being descriptive  
**What to expect:** Bromance, introspection, angst, some whump, H/C, lots of drama, lots of worrying...oh, and some magic. Can't forget the magic :)

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Merlin :)

So, this chapter pretty much answers the question that a lot of people asked me last time. Also, if any of you remember back around chapter 2, I had posed the question of what metal Merlin's brace was made of. Well, you finally get to find out. It dawned on me while writing this chapter that I had yet to even mention it, which actually resulted in me having to rewrite a good part of the dialogue at the beginning, but oh well. It worked out just fine in the end :)

Onward!

* * *

CHAPTER 25

After the initial panic had finally died away, it became rather obvious to them all that Merlin had managed to exhaust himself, though the warlock did his best to deny it. Unfortunately for him, Arthur wasn't having it, and so between the prince and Rordan, they were able to get him back into the cave where he could rest. Despite his constant protesting (which mostly involved glaring at them with varying degrees of irritation, though Arthur thought his expression more closely resembled a form of pouting) it didn't take long for him to fall asleep.

Initially the prince had been rather concerned about how much time Merlin had spent sleeping over the last few days, but Owyn had been quick to reassure him that such a thing was natural. Rest was the best way for a body to heal, and seeing as how most of the potions they had given him to reduce his pain also came with the side effect of drowsiness, it was really no surprise that he had spent the majority of his time with them asleep. Plus as long as he was sleeping, he couldn't talk, which meant his voice would return faster, and the sooner it did, the sooner the two of them could talk.

Arthur still had a lot of questions, after all.

As soon as Merlin was settled, he and Rordan made their way back outside where Owyn was still sitting, fiddling with the metal brace in his hands. Now that it was just the three of them, he had some questions, the first one being the most obvious.

"So," he began as he took a seat against the outer wall of the cave, "what is that thing anyway?"

He wanted to know exactly what they intended to do with it and why Merlin had panicked upon seeing it.

"It's sort of like a magic amplifier," Owyn said as he spun it around his finger a few times. "Originally it was designed to help sorcerers learn how to draw upon their magic. It pulls it to the surface, so to speak, making it easier to reach, and it can often draw up more power than a sorcerer can access on their own. It's a good training device, but it _can_ be dangerous. Barragh preferred to use it as a form of torture."

"How?" How could something meant to help be used in such a way? When he saw the look that crossed Owyn's face and found a similar expression on Rordan's, he suddenly wasn't sure if he really wanted to know. They both looked decidedly uncomfortable if not a little sickened by the answer.

"Well," Owyn began, ceasing his fiddling with the piece of metal, "when coupled with that orihalcon brace that Merlin's wearing—something that limits and forces _down_ a person's magic—it creates a feeling similar to being torn apart from the inside…or at least that's what I've been told."

Arthur swallowed rather hard at the thought. He could scarcely imagine how something like that felt, but just the idea of it was enough to make him feel rather sick and more than a little angry. Barragh had used that thing on Merlin; he knew that for a fact. On that day that Arthur had learned about his friend's magic, the weapons dealer had put a brace on the boy's arm that had made him cry out in what had sounded like absolute, indescribable agony, and after dragging him off and putting him in that room, he had probably done it again and again. He had terrorized him with it to the point where just the sight of it had been enough to make the warlock panic. Merlin had looked terrified. Never before had he seen an expression like that on his servant's face.

It wasn't fair. Even after his death, Barragh was still managing to cause harm. What would it take for them to finally be rid of him?

Doing his best to calm down, the prince tried to relax as he went back through what he had been told, because there were still a few things he didn't understand. One happened to be a specific word that Owyn had said, one that he had never heard before, which was rather surprising given his father's extreme dislike of magic.

Surely if there was some kind of material in the world that could take away a sorcerer's magic, the king would have told him about it.

"Orihalcon?" he asked, curious.

"It's an extremely rare metal that has the natural ability to seal in magic," Owyn explained, his earlier discomfort having eased a bit. "It can be pretty useful, actually, if used the right way. There are some creatures, as well as some sorcerers, who can sense powerful magic, so if you wanted to hide something magical from them, using orihalcon would probably be the most efficient way."

He paused for a moment before looking directly at the prince, his gaze softening from what could only be sadness.

"I don't think I need to explain to you how _else_ it could be used."

No, he really didn't. It was rather obvious given Merlin's condition.

One of the many problems that non-magical people faced when it came to detaining sorcerers was figuring out a way around their magic. Sure, you could lock them up and put them under guard—even with their magic, they could still be outnumbered, and a sword to the chest was just as lethal to sorcerers as it was to everyone else—but there was no guarantee that they wouldn't be able to escape eventually. Also, if a sorcerer was particularly powerful, then there was a good chance that they simply _couldn't_ be detained. Therefore, it would be of great use to have something that could seal away their magic so that no harm could be done. It would certainly make things easier.

He could definitely see the benefits of using something like orihalcon…but at the same time he understood the kind of harm it could cause. If someone like his father were to ever discover it…

Well, he wouldn't. Arthur had absolutely no intention of mentioning any of this to him. Even if it could prove useful, the consequences would be too great. The king would likely gather the metal relentlessly and then hunt down any sorcerers he could find. Too much innocent blood would be spilled; there was no way he could allow that, not after having learned the truth. Even if there was nothing he could do to change the laws while his father was still king, at the very least he would try not to make matters any worse than they already were. There would be no aid from him. Unless a sorcerer had truly committed a crime, he would no longer hunt them. Orders or not, he would not spill innocent blood.

"Well, all questions of ethical, unethical uses aside," Owyn began, drawing Arthur away from his inner musings and back towards the conversation at hand, "I must admit that I'm quite curious about your plan, Rordan. I honestly don't understand how something like _this_ could possibly help."

"_Finally,_ something you _don't_ know." Arthur was pretty sure that he had only half meant to say that, but in the end the words had escaped him anyway. Owyn turned to him with a look that would have been a scowl if not for the amused glint he could see on the man's face.

He got the feeling he'd be paying for that comment later.

"Well…" Rordan trailed off a little nervously, apparently choosing to ignore that last exchange of words, "it's more of a theory, really."

The uncertainty in his voice was enough to draw the two of them back rather quickly, curious and a little worried about exactly what this plan entailed. Once he had their complete attention again, Rordan was quick to continue.

"There's no guarantee it'll actually work, but it was the only thing I could think of. This brace and the orihalcon one are opposites. One pushes magic down while the other pulls it up. The idea is to put them next to each other instead of on opposite arms. When in such close proximity to each other, the pressure from the constant push and pull of magic should be enough to break the orihalcon."

"You don't sound too certain," said Arthur, both in question and accusation.

"That's because I'm not. I told you, it's only a theory, and with anyone else, I'm sure it _wouldn't_ work, but Merlin's magic is different. He's been able to use it even with that brace on. His magic is so great that if it were to all be pulled up so suddenly and so closely to the orihalcon brace, it should be enough to force it off at the very least."

Upon hearing all that, the prince very quickly decided that the first thing he was going to ask Merlin once the warlock got his voice back was _what_ exactly it was about him that made him so different. He knew that his servant was powerful—Barragh had been pretty adamant about that—but what he really wanted to know was _why_. Why was he so different from other sorcerers? What made his magic different? How had he achieved such a thing being as young as he is?

Why was it that Merlin seemed to be the exception to every rule?

There _had_ to be a reason, and he had every intention of finding out.

"It's a bit of a gamble, really," Owyn noted while absentmindedly turning the brace around and around in his hands. Arthur watched as his expression shifted from contemplative to something almost resigned. The guard merely shrugged as his lips pulled into a very small, brief grin. "But I guess it's all we've got."

The prince wasn't quite so convinced on the matter.

"And if it doesn't work?" he asked, because he didn't want to hold out too much hope for a solution that had no guarantees, that was essentially nothing more than a mere theory based on pure conjecture. He needed to know that even if things went horribly wrong that there was still hope.

"We'll come up with something," Rordan told him, and whereas he hadn't been sure about his own idea, he seemed entirely certain about that. "One way or another, we _will_ figure it out."

Despite all his reservations, the prince could feel his body slowly relaxing against the rocks behind him, his doubts being laid to rest for the moment. Even though no solution had truly been offered, he found himself a lot more at ease. What was funny about it though was that it had really only taken one word to reassure him.

_We…_

Even amidst so much uncertainty, he couldn't help but feet like things would work out alright in the end—not only with this, but with him and Merlin as well.

It was a nice feeling, not being alone.

* * *

As far as Merlin was concerned, tomorrow came far, _far_ too soon. He would have been perfectly happy if it had decided to hold off for another couple of hours…or a couple of weeks. Weeks sounded a _lot_ better, but somewhere around "never" would have been _just_ perfect (he knew it was impossible, but there certainly wasn't a rule against dreaming, now was there). Severing his arm was starting to look more and more like a viable option every second, but he knew that no one else would agree with him.

As badly as he wanted to be able to use his magic freely again, this was quite possibly the _last_ thing he wanted to do. Even after Rordan had explained everything to him that morning, he _still_ didn't want to do it. Sure, it made sense how it was supposed to work, but he really didn't want to come anywhere near that horrible piece of metal ever again. They had also informed him that they weren't even sure if this was actually _going_ to work, which only made things worse. If he was going to have to suffer again, he at least wanted something good to come from it. Was that too much to ask?

If this didn't work, he was going to tell them to just cut it off. He was pretty sure they wouldn't listen to him, but he was willing to try it anyway. He could probably get by with just one arm; he had magic, after all (and yes, he was aware that that thought was perhaps just a touch hysterical, but given what he was being forced to do, he couldn't bring himself to care).

He was at least grateful that they hadn't rushed him or pressured him too much. They had allowed him to wake up on his own time instead of shaking him awake, and they had even offered him breakfast first, which he had had to unfortunately turn down. He definitely didn't want to end up getting sick, and if he went in on a full stomach, he was pretty sure he would. He'd much rather wait and eat afterwards when he could actually enjoy the food and not have to worry about it showing up again only a couple hours later.

After refusing breakfast, his three friends had sat down with him in order to tell him exactly what the plan was, down to the last detail. Rordan had even demonstrated how to get the second brace off, which pretty much just involved taking a finger and circling a few of the runes on it in a certain sequence. It was a great deal easier to remove than his brace, that was for sure, which was rather unfair in his opinion. Naturally, nothing could ever just be easy for him—his first week in Camelot had proven _that_ rather soundly.

After all the explanations, they had decided that it would be best to be outside just in case anything went wrong, and so they had helped him walk out of the cave and over towards the center of their little clearing. He had tried to tell them that he could walk on his own, but his protests had fallen on deaf ears. It certainly didn't help that his voice _still_ wasn't very strong, but at least he could finally manage more than just a couple of words here and there. However, he got the feeling that all that progress was about to be wiped away. Rordan had tried to insist that it wouldn't hurt quite as much this time around, but he wasn't entirely sure if he believed that. After all, it wouldn't be the first time someone had tricked him like that (Gaius was certainly rather good at it, always telling him that it "won't hurt much" when patching up an injury. He was always wrong, and maybe one day Merlin would stop falling for such a simple trick).

Heaving a deep sigh, half out of exasperation and half in an attempt to calm himself down, Merlin stared up at the specks of blue sky and sunlight that he could see through the treetops while wondering what he had ever done to deserve something like this.

"Are you ready?" Rordan asked, drawing the warlock's attention. They were all standing around him, watching and waiting, and he rather hated it. He didn't want anyone to see, but he knew that it would be impossible to make them leave. It would also be unwise, because without them there, he probably wouldn't be able to take the other brace off. He needed them there regardless of whether he wanted them there or not.

_No, _he though to himself, wanting to say it aloud, but he held his tongue. If he wanted his magic back, then he needed to at least try, and so despite every fiber of his being telling him to get away, to not let that thing come anywhere near him, he nodded his head and gave his consent.

Rordan knelt down next to him, expression full of sympathy.

"I'm sorry about this," he said. "If it doesn't work, I promise I'll take it off right away, alright?"

"Alright," Merlin whispered back, still terrified but doing his best not to be.

The warlock watched as Rordan took a deep breath before reaching towards his right arm. He rolled the baggy sleeve up until it was well past the elbow, exposing the other brace in all its magic-binding glory. If this actually worked and the damnable thing really popped off, he was throwing it into the brook. The water could just carry it all the way out to sea where it would remain lost forever more.

He was rather fond of that idea.

With only a moment more of hesitation, Rordan met his eyes to make certain that he was ready for what was coming. With one final nod, the guard took the brace and clamped it around his arm right next to the other.

Apparently the guard really _hadn't_ been trying to trick him. True to his word, it _didn't_ hurt as much as the last time.

However, it still _hurt_.

As his magic rushed to the surface, straining against the force that was continuously trying to keep it down, his body began to feel like it was on fire. His back arched against his will, his fingers digging into the ground beneath him, and although it took a great deal of effort, he _didn't_ scream. Instead he clenched his teeth and kept his mouth firmly shut, doing all he could to endure it. The fact that he had enough will to do even that much was a true testament to how different this time was from all the rest. When Barragh had been torturing him, everything had blurred together, and all he had been able to register was the pain. Every word he had spoken during that time had been said in the midst of screaming, each one loud and desperate as he cried out for mercy. He hadn't been able to control himself at all.

Just that thought alone was almost enough to make him start panicking again, to give in to the fear and the pain, but he didn't want to. He couldn't. He _wouldn't._ Things were different this time. No one was torturing him, no one was laughing, no one was mocking him. This time around the agony _wasn't_ all consuming. This time it was concentrated, manageable.

This time he could endure it, and he _would_ endure it.

Feeling his magic roiling through him, leaving a searing heat behind, Merlin tried to reach for it. If he could maybe somehow get a hold of it, then perhaps he'd even be able to help the process along. All he had to do was pull it forward, create enough pressure to overpower the orihalcon brace. Rordan had told him that if anyone could make his farfetched plan work, it was him, and so he was going to do his best to try. Even though it hurt, even though it felt like someone was trying to toss him into a raging fire, he wouldn't give up.

He wanted his magic back. He was more than sick of this.

As the warlock did his best to hold on and make things work out the way he wanted them to, he was completely unaware of the effect his efforts were having. Unbeknownst to him, the runes on the two braces were glowing, their light growing brighter and brighter by the second. Around him, Rordan, Owyn, and Arthur continued to watch, waiting for something to happen, for there to be a clear sign that their plan either was or wasn't going to work. However, aside from the ever increasing light, they had nothing to go off of.

Clenching his fists tightly at his sides, Arthur resolved himself to wait, even though all he really wanted to do was put an end to it. Even though Merlin didn't seem to be in anywhere near the kind of pain he had been in before, it was obvious that it still hurt a great deal. His eyes had closed almost immediately and they hadn't opened since, shut tight and creased at the corners. His had also locked his jaw, his teeth most likely grinding together behind pursed lips as he did everything in his power not to let anything escape from his mouth, not to make a single sound, but every once in a while a pained noise would slip past without his consent, betraying the real pain he was in.

The prince hated it. He hated only being able to stand by and watch. He wanted to do something, anything, even if it turned out to be pointless. Above everything else, he despised being helpless.

Arthur had no idea how much time had passed when he finally opened his mouth to say something, but he was pretty sure it was nowhere near as long as it felt.

"Well?" he asked, directing his query at Rordan. He needed to know whether or not this was working.

The guard glanced up at him, their eyes meeting for but a moment before his full concentration was back on the warlock again. Despite the anxiety he could see there, those dark eyes were entirely focused. It was as if he was searching for something, unwilling to take his eyes away for fear that he might miss it.

"Come on…" Rordan whispered encouragingly, impatiently, and Arthur found himself turning his attention back to Merlin, back to the two braces whose runes were now glowing even brighter. He watched closely, waiting for something to happen—he was willing to take just about anything at this point—but in the end it wasn't so much what he saw but what he heard.

Cracking.

Something was cracking. With all the light in the way, he couldn't see which one it was.

The sound came again and again, growing louder each time, and they all waited with baited breath to see what would happen, to find out which force would prevail. It was almost like a battle of wills. That orihalcon brace was the last remnant of Barragh's will, his desire to own and control, while Merlin was trying to overcome it, to set both himself and his magic free.

In the end, which one of them would persevere?

Only a moment later he received his answer.

With one final, resonating crack, one light faded, and in its place were two pieces of a single brace, one made of a metal that looked like silver but was anything but. They watched as the two halves hung on rather innocently before slipping from their place just below the elbow of a somewhat pale right arm.

"Yes!" came a delighted cheer from the most jovial of them, a wide grin spreading across his face, one that Arthur found himself mirroring not a moment later.

It was gone.

The orihalcon brace was gone. They all watched as it fell to the ground.

…And in the next moment, the three of them were suddenly halfway across the clearing.

Arthur groaned as he lay there on the ground, his back having taken most of the blow (though thankfully not his head, because the last thing he wanted to be right now was unconscious). _Everything_ hurt, and when he tried to open his eyes, he found that the world was spinning a bit, so he quickly closed them again to avoid the bout of nausea that was sure to follow.

"Are you alright, Arthur? Owyn?" he heard Rordan call, the guard sounding just as bad as he probably felt.

"I think so." He had actually been leaning more towards something like "probably not," but the pain would most likely pass soon enough, or at least he hoped it would.

"Haven't experienced _that_ in a while," came Owyn's equally as strained but slightly more amused response (surely it had to be a gift, the way he almost always managed to come off sounding like he was enjoying the circumstances just a little no matter how ridiculous they seemed to be). The prince wanted to take a look around and make sure they were all alright, that nothing too terrible had happened, but his body was still trying to recover from the rather sudden blow it had taken.

_Just what the hell happened?_ One moment he had been standing there, rejoicing in the fact that one of their final obstacles had finally been overcome, and then the next he had been flying through the air only to slam into the ground on the other side of the clearing. It had all happened so fast that he hadn't even had time to realize what was going on. He couldn't even remember seeing anything. It was almost like a huge gust of wind had suddenly thrown them off their feet, but he knew that wasn't quite it. Honestly, the force that had slammed into him had felt a lot more like a charging horse or a brick wall than anything else. What could have possibly caused something like that?

Deciding that it was time to figure out what was going on, the prince forced his eyes open and waited for his vision to clear. Thankfully the world was no longer spinning, although his body was still rather reluctant to move. Everything was still pretty sore too, but he could deal with that. It wasn't anything he hadn't had to put up with before.

As he slowly sat up, he saw that both Rordan and Owyn were in similar states. They had also been thrown rather far, and Arthur was only then realizing just _how_ far the three of them had actually flown. It's not like the forest valley they had been camping out in was all that big, but it spanned a fairly good distance. The three of them had originally been standing somewhere around the middle, but now they had the tree line at their back (thank goodness they hadn't gone any farther, otherwise they might not have made it through so unscathed).

Rubbing at his shoulder where it had collided rather harshly with the ground, Arthur looked around to see if he could find whatever had attacked them. Nothing appeared to be very forthcoming.

"What the hell…?" he began to ask only to trail off as an unfamiliar sensation washed over him, freezing him in place. It was almost like suddenly being dunked into an ice cold lake but without the discomfort and the biting cold that came with being soaked through. It crept up his arms and across his chest, along the back of his neck and down his spine. For a moment he wondered if maybe it was just a cold breeze passing through, because whatever it was seemed to be capable of ruffling his hair as well. However, if it was some kind of wind, then it was unlike any wind he had ever felt before.

Looking around once more in the hopes of solving at least one mystery, his eyes suddenly fell on something that he hadn't noticed the first time. Back across the valley, sitting in the middle of the clearing with his head in his hands was Merlin. The warlock was still exactly where they had left him, but something didn't seem quite right, and it didn't take long for him to figure out what.

Around his right arm was what looked like a band of light. The runes were glowing so brightly that he could no longer see the metal brace that they adorned.

That sensation passed through him again, this time far more violently than before, and he couldn't suppress the shudder that came with it. As it turned out, he wasn't the only one.

"Does anyone else feel that?" Rordan asked as he slowly got to his feet.

"Yeah," said Owyn as he followed suit, and Arthur was rather quick to follow their example. It would be far easier to do something, like defend themselves, if they were standing.

"But what is it?" he asked, trying to determine where that odd feeling was coming from, but there was nothing in the valley aside from the three of them and Merlin. Unfortunately, it seemed that Rordan and Owyn didn't know the answer either…that is until the wind picked up.

The forest, for the most part, had been very peaceful during the course of their stay there. Nothing had seen fit to bother them, not even the weather. The most that had ever passed through was a soft breeze.

The wind whipping past them at that moment was anything but a "soft breeze."

"Where did all this wind come from?" he called out, having to raise his voice a bit to get it over the roaring of the wind. He wasn't sure whether the two guards had heard him or not, but a quick glance in their direction told him that they were just as lost for an answer as he was. "What the hell is going—?"

Oh.

…_Oh._

With a sense of dawning dread, he turned his eyes back to the center of the clearing.

It was like looking at the eye of a storm.

_A brace that draws up the magic of a sorcerer…_

Though the grass rustled and the branches swayed, everything around Merlin was still.

Arthur could finally put a word to that unfamiliar sensation.

_Magic._

There was magic bleeding into the air, magic that had been repressed for well over a month, strained and abused and agitated. It flowed from the warlock like water gushing through a busted dam, crashing down upon them all in waves—pure, untainted, raw magic, manifesting itself as wind.

He suddenly found himself with the answer to both of his questions.

_Merlin_ had been the one to throw them across the clearing, although he was most likely unaware of it. His magic had simply surged upon being released from its cage, and now because of that brace, it was overflowing, rushing to the surface and spilling over, and from the looks of it, the warlock wasn't able to stop it. It was hard to tell if he was even aware of what was going on.

Arthur turned towards Owyn and Rordan, both of the guards having moved closer to him while he had been putting the pieces together, and judging by the looks on their faces, they had arrived at the same realization.

They had placed a magic amplifying brace on a sorcerer with the potential to raze kingdoms.

"…Oh," Owyn said, his voice echoing the prince's thoughts before being drawn away into the wind.

They _really_ hadn't thought this through.

"…Damn."

_Yes,_ Arthur agreed as he prepared himself to weather the storm. _That pretty much sums it up, doesn't it?_

Hindsight was truly a wretched thing.

* * *

**A/N:** Well, that was fun :) I hope you all enjoyed the second to last chapter of this fic. Man, and I had originally pegged this story to be about 15 chapters. Honestly, I should know better by now.

Just want to say one thing here quick before someone decides to comment: So, if you are an RPG gamer and have played things like Final Fantasy, Orihalcon might sound familiar to you. It also appears in the fantasy anime Slayers. And no, I did not misspell it. And no, I did not mean to write orichalcum. That is a completely different metal. Hopefully that will clear up any and all potential confusion :)

Anyway, thank you again for all the wonderful reviews and all the support you've given me. I honestly can't thank you enough. To all who are reading, I hope you'll stick with me for one final chapter. I'll do my best to have it up on time :)

Until next week!


	26. Chapter 26

**A/N:** Well...here it is. Somehow through work, illness, and ridiculous computer problems, I finally managed to finish this chapter. It's 3:00 in the morning and I have to be to work by 9:00, but I did it :) I bring you the _longest_ final chapter I have ever written for _anything_, clocking in at more than 12,000 words! I really should have broken it into two, but in the end I didn't feel like it, and after failing to update not once but twice when I said I would, I think this was well deserved. Thank you so much for being patient and not bombarding me with angry messages. I'm very grateful.

**Title: **Of Twisted Morals and Human Weaponry  
**Author: **BeyondTheStorm  
**Rating: **T for...well, a lot of things. Some language, some violence, the whole general situation, a bit of torture, etc.  
**Characters/pairings:** The cast is as follows: Merlin, Arthur, an antagonist, two guards with names, and a few without. Merlin and Arthur are the main focus of this story. Oh, and no pairings. Only friendship here, though if you want to read more into it, feel free. Whatever floats your boat :)  
**Spoilers: **Um...none, as far as I know.  
**Warnings: **Abuse, a bit of torture, me being descriptive  
**What to expect:** Bromance, introspection, angst, some whump, H/C, lots of drama, lots of worrying...oh, and some magic. Can't forget the magic :)

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Merlin :)

There's so much I could say about this chapter, like how the last few sentences literally took me two hours to write because nothing would fit the way I wanted it to, but I think that instead of rambling on, I'll let the chapter speak for itself :) I had great fun writing this, and I hope you all enjoy it, and despite the fact that I know there are things I won't directly be covering, I hope that the end is still satisfying.

With no further ado, I bring you the final chapter to this story :)

* * *

CHAPTER 26

"…I think we may want to take cover for now."

Arthur turned towards Rordan as the two guards began to slowly edge back towards the tree line. He had to push his hair away from his face in order to see them properly as the wind howled all around them.

"What for?" he asked. It was only wind—well, magic produced wind—nothing to be afraid of. It would die down eventually.

As soon as the words left his lips, the winds increased. It was almost enough to push him off his feet, but he quickly braced himself and stood his ground. However, a change in the intensity of the gusts wasn't the only thing that caught him off guard. Somewhere above them, up in the canopy of the forest, a sharp crack was heard, and in no time at all a large tree branch came plummeting down. It landed just a few yards away, smoke rising from its broken, blackened end as if it had been struck by lightning. In fact, the air itself almost seemed to be charged, much like it sometimes felt during a storm. He had been caught in enough while out hunting to know what it felt like.

Rordan's suggestion didn't seem quite so silly now.

"Come on!" the guard called, motioning for him to follow. Arthur wasted no time in making his way for the tree line where the trees were hopefully too thick and too well-grounded to be toppled. Each of them chose their own place to take shelter behind, and even though the wind only seemed to get worse with each passing moment, it didn't stop any of them from glancing back at the sorcerer who sat at the very center of it all.

With his eyes closed and his head in his hands, the prince couldn't help but wonder if Merlin had any idea what was even going on around him.

"Well," he heard Owyn say as the guard scratched the back of his head a bit sheepishly, "this probably isn't good."

Biggest understatement _ever_.

"Merlin!" Arthur shouted, looking around the side of the huge tree he was hiding behind. He made sure he was at least facing the warlock before continuing in hopes that his voice would carry. "Take off the brace!"

He really wasn't all that surprised when Merlin didn't move a muscle, making no indication whatsoever that he had even heard the prince.

"I don't think he can hear you."

"Yes, _thank you_ for that, Owyn." Because he _never_ would've been able to figure that out himself. The guard only scowled at him a bit in response, though that ridiculous brand of amusement was still there as well (how anyone could be amused in a situation like this was beyond him, but he had long ago decided that it wasn't worth trying to figure the other man out. The last thing he needed right now was a headache).

Turning towards Rordan, the far more responsible one of the two, he asked the only question that he could think of but one that none of them probably had a direct answer to.

"What are we supposed to do?"

To his surprise, Rordan _did_ have an idea.

"If Merlin can't do it himself, then someone needs to get over there and take the brace off for him."

That seemed rather plausible.

Somewhere close by, another two branches came tumbling down to the ground, their edges singed and blackened. In that same moment he felt a shock of something near his arm, prompting him to quickly pull it back and away from the open air, unshielded by the body of the tree.

Rordan's plan suddenly didn't sound so plausible anymore.

"How?" he demanded, because unless they wanted to either end up getting fried, flattened, or simply just blown away, there was no way the three of them could even get close to Merlin. There was just too much magic.

From the corner of his eye he caught sight of movement, and he turned to see what it was only to see Owyn attempting to move out from behind his tree. He managed to slide himself halfway into the open before something clipped his arm, forcing him back behind his cover.

"Damn," he hissed in obvious pain, gripping his arm where he had been struck. Arthur hadn't even been able to see what it was that had hit him. He was pretty sure that nothing had been there, but at the same time he was slowly starting to realize that that didn't actually matter. Magic wasn't always something that could be seen. After all, the force that had launched them across the clearing had been unseen as well despite feeling like a brick wall. Magic didn't require a visible, physical form to be felt.

"Are you alright?" Rordan called.

"I'm fine," the other man responded, attempting to wave off the concern. "It's not that bad."

Peering around the side of his tree again, Arthur tried to get a good look at Merlin. He edged himself out as far as he dared only to find that the warlock was _still_ in exactly the same position as before. The prince began to wonder if he was even conscious or if he had somehow managed to pass out like that while his magic roamed free and unchecked. After all, if he had been awake and aware, then surely he would have stopped by now. There was no way Merlin would ever allow his magic to hurt the people he considered to be his friends.

For whatever reason, whether it be a loss of consciousness or a loss of control, the warlock wasn't able to stop.

He needed help.

As Arthur stood there trying to come up with something that he could do, he began to notice something. The magic produced wind was blowing at an incredible rate, bending some of the smaller trees almost entirely in half to the point where he was surprised they didn't break. It was enough to toss his hair and to make his shirt billow out even without standing in it directly…and yet for some reason the sword at his side was still. Whereas everything else around him was being jostled and tossed, the sword and its sheath didn't move.

Curious, he edged just a little further out so that it would be directly in the wind, and even then it only shifted for a moment due to his own movements before falling still once more. He was fairly certain that wasn't supposed to happen. There was absolutely _no_ way that piece of metal was heavy enough to not be moved by such a fierce wind. Logically it just didn't make any sense. He was pretty sure that he had never heard of a sword that was immune to wind.

…But he supposed that it was technically possible for a sword to be immune to magic. It was the only explanation he could think of, and it seemed to make even more sense after considering exactly who it was that he had taken it from: a weapons dealer who specialized in magic.

_Of course._ Leave it to that arrogant monster to have an abnormal blade.

Taking hold of the hilt, Arthur slowly drew his sword, and whatever doubts he may have still had about the nature of the weapon were wiped away once he saw the runes carved into it, glowing a soft shade of blue. Definitely a magical weapon, or at least a magic resistant one given that he felt absolutely no resistance as he held it despite the wind howling around him. Perhaps if he were to hold it in front of him, it'd be able to cut him a path to Merlin. He had no idea how wide a birth it created, but he was willing to take his chances. There was nothing else he could do after all, aside from just sitting back and waiting it out, and there was no telling how long that would take.

There was also no guarantee that Merlin would escape unscathed from such an extreme display of magic. If it were to continue to rage out of control until it ran out completely, what would happen to him? Honestly, he didn't know, and he had no intention of finding out. He'd get that brace off of him before then; Rordan had shown them _all_ how to do it, and he was certain that he remembered the correct combination.

It was all a bit of a gamble, really, but he found that he didn't care. When had something like that ever stopped him before?

Taking a deep breath, he held the sword with both hands and positioned it in front of him before stepping out from behind his cover. There was only a brief moment of resistance before the area around him fell mostly still. He could of course still feel the wind in places, like along his shoulders, and if he shifted the blade, he found that the pressure would increase or decrease depending on how far away his body was from it. He was going to have to be careful.

With one more deep breath, he steadied himself and began to move forward.

"Arthur!" he heard Owyn call, his voice nearly getting drowned out in the roaring all around them; the sword could cut through the wind just fine, but it did nothing for the noise. "What are you doing?"

Ignoring the somewhat frantic shouting, he pressed onward. It was actually surprisingly easy to make his way across the clearing when he didn't have to worry about the wind shoving him back or the lightning hitting him (he still wasn't entirely sure if it _was_ lightning or not, but he honestly didn't much care to find out). The closer he got to Merlin though, the worse everything around him seemed to get, but even when he could distinctly feel a good deal of force pushing against the blade, he kept going anyway.

Upon closer inspection, he found that he _still_ couldn't tell whether Merlin was conscious or not. He was still just sitting there, unmoving, eyes closed, and gripping his head as if he had a headache while all the while that brace just continued to glow. He only hoped that the light wouldn't be enough to make it impossible to see the runes. If he couldn't tell which ones he was touching, he'd never be able to get it off.

The moment Arthur got within a few feet of the warlock, he very nearly fell on his face. In an instant all the pressure that had been bearing down on his blade disappeared, and the sudden loss of resistance was enough to nearly send him crashing to the ground. Luckily he managed to catch himself; he was pretty sure that if he had fallen, none of them would have ever let him live it down.

Gripping his sword with one hand, the prince knelt down by his friend and reached for his right arm where the brace was. The light coming off of it truly was bright, but it thankfully wasn't hot, meaning he'd have no trouble at all touching it. Before pressing down on the first rune, he took a look at Merlin and quickly decided that he had to be in a magic induced trance of some kind, because he very clearly wasn't unconscious, but at the same time he wasn't exactly aware either.

Touching the first rune that Rordan had showed them, he very quickly circled all the rest of them as well, being careful to get the order right. As soon as the last one was done, the brace snapped open. The light died almost instantly, and as soon as the metal was away from the warlock, the magic flowing from him erupted into one final burst of power. Had he not been so close to Merlin and thus still in the "eye of the storm" so to speak, he was pretty sure that he would have been tossed halfway across the clearing again…or flattened. With his luck, probably the latter.

As soon as the last burst of magic cleared from the air, Arthur watched as the warlock next to him finally began to move. A shudder seemed to run through his whole body before he slowly brought his arms down, his hands releasing the grip they had had on his head. Two eyes very carefully blinked open, looking a bit dazed at first until his vision cleared. The warlock first looked at his surroundings in surprise before his expression settled into one of confusion. It didn't last long though as he continued to look around, slowly putting the pieces together. Apparently he _had_ been at least somewhat aware of what had been going on even if he hadn't been in a position to do anything about it.

"Merlin," Arthur called, startling his servant. "Are you alright?"

Merlin looked up at the prince first and then down to his arm where the two braces had once been. Arthur watched as he flexed his fingers, wincing just a bit when the muscles in his right arm tensed, but overall the damage didn't seem to be too bad. His skin was a little red around the area where the two braces had been, but aside from that he looked to be alright. In fact, he looked better than he had in a long time.

Apparently satisfied with his self-assessment, the warlock turned to him with a small grin.

"I think so." His voice sounded stronger too even though it was still a little hoarse. It would probably be back to normal by the next day so long as he didn't overdo it.

Offering a smile of his own in return, Arthur got to his feet so that he could sheath his sword only to find that the blade wasn't in the best of shape. Actually, that was probably an understatement. There were entire sections of it missing, areas here and there that looked like they had been eroded away. The metal that remained had also lost a good deal of its luster, and seeing as how even some of the runes had been damaged, he was pretty sure that it probably wouldn't be able to stand up to a magical barrage again. Even as he stood there watching, bits and pieces of it were crumbling away.

He was a little disappointed. He had had every intention of keeping it. A blade like that could have come in handy. However, if his father had ever found out about it…

"Well," he sighed, looking at the sword a bit regretfully as it continued to fall apart, "I suppose it's for the best." He released the hilt and allowed it to fall to the ground, watching as the metal continued to break and scatter. He really would have liked to keep it, but considering Camelot's rules against magic, it was probably better this way. The last thing he needed to do upon returning to Camelot was draw unneeded attention to himself given what he already intended to do. He _was_ going to be harboring a sorcerer, after all. Hiding a magical sword would probably just be pushing his luck, which he really didn't have a whole lot of to begin with.

Yes, it was definitely better this way.

Casting his eyes along the ground, a reflection of sunlight got his attention. He moved just the few feet necessary to reach it before bending down and picking up two pieces of silver metal: the remains of the orihalcon brace. He took a moment to look at it, turning the two halves over and over in his hands. It seemed so small, so ordinary, so completely insignificant, and yet it had been able to cause such a great deal of grief and distress, of pain, of sadness. So much harm had been caused by so little a thing.

Perhaps it was true that it could be useful, that it could be beneficial, that it did have quite a bit of value for what it could do, but at that moment all Arthur saw in it was a reminder of a man who had tortured innocent people, who had treated them like objects instead of human beings. It was a representation of everything Barragh had been and all that he had done—its value was the _last_ thing on his mind—and he could think of only one thing to do with it.

"…Arthur?" Merlin whispered hesitantly, his eyes trained on the prince, although he found them straying to the remnants of the brace that Arthur held in his hands. He did his best to try and figure out what was going through his friend's head, but for once the prince's expression remained stoic and unreadable, betraying nothing of his thoughts. His eyes were simply trained on the metal he was holding, and Merlin would have given almost anything in that moment to know what he was thinking about, because he would have been lying if he said that he wasn't the least bit fearful. In all honesty, he was worried about what the prince intended to do.

What if Arthur decided to keep it? What if he believed it could be useful? He wasn't sure what he would do if that turned out to be the prince's choice. Despite his belief in his friend and the kingdom he would one day build, he knew that if Arthur chose to hold onto that bit of orihalcon, a part of him would always be afraid that it might someday find its way back to him. What if, one day, Arthur realized just how incredibly powerful he was and grew to fear him? What if he decided to try and control him like Barragh had? He wanted to believe that the prince would never do that to him, but if the prince _did_ choose to keep it, there would always be that question lingering in the back of his mind as to _why_.

He wanted Arthur to trust him, because his magic was and always would be for him and for Camelot.

In the end he needn't have worried. As it turned out, the two of them were a great deal more alike than he thought.

Fingers tightening around the metal in his hand, Arthur's expression changed to something akin to self-righteous determination as he drew his arm back and tossed the remains of the brace across the clearing…and right into the brook.

Merlin couldn't help but laugh.

Surprised at the warlock's rather sudden, mirthful outburst, the prince turned towards him. His servant was practically doubling over in laughter from where he sat on the ground. His voice still wasn't at its best, but it definitely seemed stronger, although it was obvious that he was trying to laugh as quietly as he could to avoid any unnecessary strain. For the life of him though, Arthur couldn't figure out what could possibly be so funny.

When the warlock looked up at him, grinning like the idiot he was, the prince couldn't help but wonder if Merlin was laughing at _him_. The look on the boy's face made it seem like he was indulging in some sort of private joke at Arthur's expense.

"What?" he asked a bit skeptically, but that smile only grew wider.

"Nothing," the warlock said, both sincere and amused at the same time. He was pretty sure that even if he asked again, he wouldn't get an answer. Whatever Merlin had found so amusing was obviously something he intended to keep just to himself (which _really_ made Arthur wonder if he had somehow ended up as the subject of some personal joke). He quickly decided that in the long run it didn't much matter, but what _did_ matter was the fact that his friend was still able to laugh like that. After everything that had happened, he was still able to show that kind of expression, and the prince was more than grateful for it. Despite all he had been through, he _hadn't_ been broken.

Crouching down in order to get a better look at the warlock, he took in everything he could about the boy's much improved condition. Despite the fact that he still looked rather exhausted—and who could blame him after that rather incredible display of magic—he looked a great deal healthier and stronger than he had in a long time.

"You look like you're doing better," he said, a small grin crossing his face.

"I _feel_ better," Merlin responded softly, giving a bit of a shrug. "Not great, but better."

Arthur watched as he rubbed at his arm a bit, his fingers brushing over the slightly red, damaged skin where the orihalcon brace had once sat. He also took in the other injuries that were still healing, and a thought suddenly dawned on him.

"Now that you have your magic back, can't you just heal yourself?"

"No."

Arthur blinked at him, surprised by the lack of hesitation and the sheer bluntness of his answer.

"Why not?" he asked, because honestly, _why couldn't he_? After all of _that_, how could there be anything he _wasn't_ capable of?

This time Merlin did hesitate for a moment before glancing towards the ground with a slightly sheepish grin.

"I'm rubbish at it," he said.

This time it was Arthur's turn to laugh. He stared at the warlock for all of a couple seconds before he broke out in a fit of laughter, because _really_, just…_really_. Of all the things he had expected to hear—all the things he had expected to learn about Merlin and his magic—_that_ hadn't been one of them. His servant was a powerful sorcerer, capable of things that most could probably only dream of, and yet even though he could topple a castle with his magic, he couldn't heal a cut. The latter sounded so much easier than the first, and yet it _all_ sounded so very much like Merlin.

Even though he was still laughing a bit, he felt the urge to sigh at the sheer ridiculousness of it all, because the whole thing just really was so very _Merlin_.

"Of _course_ you are."

His servant clearly didn't find it as amusing as he did if the scowl on his face was anything to go by.

"It's not _that_ funny…"

It definitely was (the fact that he looked more like he was pouting than scowling only made it more so).

"…Merlin."

Getting his laughter under control, the prince turned towards the voice just as Merlin had, watching as both Owyn and Rordan finally made their way over. Both men seemed rather relived that everything was over, although there was a good deal of amusement on their faces as well. Arthur quickly tried to school his expression into something a bit more dignified, but he got the feeling it was a losing battle. It was rather likely that the two of them had seen and heard everything that had just transpired (after everything that had happened between the four of them, it probably didn't much matter whether they saw him laughing like an idiot or not, but he _was_ a prince. There was still _some_ level of dignity that should be maintained).

With that perpetual smile on his face, Owyn glanced at the prince before once again addressing the warlock.

"Glad to see you're feeling better," he said. "Your voice seems to be returning as well." He reached out and ruffled the boy's hair fondly. "You really are something, aren't you."

Merlin tried to dislodge the hand on his head, albeit rather half-heartedly, attempting to muster the proper level of annoyance with his friend, but all he could do was smile at the action. He had long since learned to just accept such things. It was a show of affection, proof that he meant something to these people. He _wasn't_ just a tool, wasn't just a sorcerer, and they had never allowed him to think any differently. In an otherwise dark world, confined and trapped and at the mercy of a madman, these two guards had stood by him and helped him even when they shouldn't have, even at great personal risk to themselves. He owed them so much, and now with his magic free and his voice finally returning, he could say the one thing that he had been longing to say every since he had woken up outside of that dreadful castle.

"Owyn, Rodan," he called, making sure he had their attention. "Thank you."

Both men smiled at him warmly.

"You're more than welcome," said Rordan. "I'm just glad we were able to help."

Owyn clearly shared that sentiment if the grin on his face and the hand that was still ruffling the warlock's hair were anything to go by.

"So," the cheerful guard began in a manner that clearly indicated a change in subject, "how about we spend today resting and then head out for Camelot in the morning?"

That suggestion quickly earned him a confused look from both Merlin and Arthur, though it was the latter that decided to voice their obvious question.

"You're coming with us?"

Merlin couldn't tell whether the prince was just plain confused or a little hopeful at that prospect. It was nice to know that his two newest friends had also managed to grow on Arthur as well. He supposed that desperate situations could do that with people, but he would rather view it as a testament to all three of their characters, especially Arthur's. Little by little, the arrogant young prince that he had met during those first days in Camelot was slowly becoming a man who was more than worthy of his title. One day he would truly be a wise and compassionate king.

"Of course we are," Owyn told him, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Changing tactics (since it wasn't likely he'd get anywhere with Owyn), Merlin watched as the prince turned his confusion upon Rordan instead.

"Don't _you_ have a family to get back to?"

It was a rather valid point. Rordan _did_ have a family: a wife and a little girl. They had been the sole reason that he had obeyed Barragh for so long. He had truly taken a great risk in defying the man, and now that everything was over, he no longer needed to worry about them. He could actually go home to them and _stay_ instead of only seeing them every now and then. Surely he wanted to.

To his surprise, the guard only smiled.

"They already know about the situation," he said, and not for the first time, Merlin couldn't help but marvel at the man's preparedness. If he had truly taken the time to deliver a message to his family amidst everything else that had been going on, then it was really no wonder that it had taken him so long to meet up with them. "I appreciate the concern, but don't worry. I'll go back once I see you both safely home."

"Thank you," said Merlin, seeing as how Arthur still seemed to be a little too surprised to respond properly. Whereas the warlock had spent over a month getting to know the guard, Arthur had only known Rordan for a few days. It was understandable that he wasn't quite used to the man's particular brand of kindness. While trapped in that castle, he had learned that many of the guards were honorable, noble men, even if only a handful of them had actually been born with that claim.

"Well," Owyn began with a cheerful chirp, "now that that's settled…"

The guard moved to Merlin's side before kneeling down next to the warlock, and without further ado, he reached out and pulled one of the boy's arms around his shoulders.

"Come on, Merlin," he said. "Let's get you back inside. You look like you might pass out at any moment."

He wanted to argue that no, he most certainly didn't, but when Owyn carefully got him up and on his feet, the world began to spin and a wave of both nausea and exhaustion washed over him. He couldn't help but groan at the sensation before shooting the guard at his side a slight scowl.

"Thanks," he muttered sardonically, which only seemed to make his friend smile more (he vowed to one day figure out just what it was that allowed Owyn to be in a constant state of amusement, because it just wasn't fair that he could find entertainment in just about _everything_).

As the guard turned the two of them around so that they could head back to the cave, Merlin's other arm was quickly snatched up by Arthur, giving him two people to lean on. He wanted to tell them that he was fine, that he could walk on his own, but he got the feeling that they wouldn't listen to him. Besides, he wasn't entirely sure if that was true anyway. While he had been alright just sitting on the ground, standing had brought a whole slew of problems. His whole body felt sore, his legs were shaking, and his vision swam. He was tired, more so in body than in mind, but he was pretty sure that that would follow shortly. In the end he'd probably end up wasting most of yet another day sleeping.

Once they reached the cave, his two friends led him over to where his makeshift bed was. He was about to tell them that he wasn't tired yet, but as it turned out he didn't need to bother. The two of them merely sat him down so that he could lean against the wall instead of trying to lay him out on the blankets. He was rather grateful, because if they _had_ laid him down, he wasn't sure if he would have been able to sit up on his own. What little strength he had managed to get back was quickly waning. Apparently all that magic that he had released had taken a greater toll than he had thought.

With a quick goodbye and a promise to check up on him later, Owyn took off, leaving him alone with Arthur. The prince had taken a seat on the ground next to him, casually reclining against the wall. There was a rather thoughtful look on his face, as if he were mulling something over. He had learned to dread those looks. More often than not they led to the two of them ending up in trouble or Merlin being forced to do something that he really _didn't_ want to do. However, something felt a bit different this time around. Whatever the prince was contemplating, he was clearly taking his time for once, and there was not a single trace of amusement on his face. He looked completely serious, and the warlock found himself wondering what he could possibly be thinking about.

"…Merlin," the prince suddenly began, breaking the silence and almost startling the warlock, "are you up for talking a bit?"

The warlock swallowed a bit thickly, because he knew what that question implied. A small part of him wanted to say no, because even though he didn't want to admit it, he was still hesitant to simply come out and tell Arthur everything. He had been hiding his magic for most of his life. It had become a habit, one that wasn't so easily broken. He also knew that if he _did_ say no, Arthur wouldn't pressure him. The prince would probably allow him whatever time he needed, and it was for that very reason that he couldn't do it. This conversation was bound to happen eventually. There was no reason to put it off any longer than he already had.

"Sure."

Hesitating for a moment, the prince eventually pressed forward with what had most likely been weighing on his mind for days now.

"There are a few things I want to ask you about your magic."

"Alright." He owed Arthur his life. The least he could do was answer whatever questions he had. He certainly wouldn't be able to tell him everything just yet; he would likely fall asleep somewhere in the middle if he tried, but he could at least spend a few moments satisfying his friend's curiosity.

"When did you start practicing magic?"

Arthur, for his part, had thought about this long and hard. He had spent a great deal of time deciding on what to ask, especially what to ask _first_, because it certainly wouldn't have done to finally get the chance to ask something only to flounder around for an appropriate question. Originally he had intended to ask something along the lines of "just how powerful are you," but after that rather grand display earlier, he was pretty sure that he no longer needed to. Never before had he seen magic like that. Merlin truly was every bit as powerful as everyone had claimed him to be (and he was pretty sure that if he _did_ ask, Merlin would take the modest route and downplay his abilities, and that was the last thing Arthur wanted from him right now).

"Depends on what you mean," Merlin said, his attention focused on his lap where his hands were twisting the hem of his shirt. "I didn't start practicing until after I came to Camelot, but I've been able to use magic since before I could talk."

He was surprised for all of a moment before deciding that somehow that just made sense. Owyn had told him that it was possible. Rare, but possible. Merlin had already proven himself to be anything but ordinary, so it only made sense that his magic would be the same.

"I take it that's not common."

"No. My mother and Gaius said that I'm…special."

That was certainly one way of putting it. "Incredible" or "one-of-a-kind" was another.

As Arthur sat there listening, it took him a moment for the full implications of that sentence to settle in. In hindsight, he should have already known, or at the very least suspected. After all, Merlin wasn't quite _that_ good at keeping secrets.

"So Gaius knows. I suppose that makes sense." It really did, which was why he wasn't bothered by it. The physician was Merlin's guardian. Of course the warlock would confide in him. "Who else knows about your magic?"

For some strange reason, that question seemed to make him nervous.

"My mother," he said, but Arthur was already aware of that fact. Merlin had _just_ told him that, after all. Besides, she was his _mother_. There was no possible way she _couldn't_ know.

"_Obviously_," he replied. "Who else?"

The warlock hesitated, glancing up at the prince in a somewhat anxious manner. Arthur got the feeling that he wasn't going to like the answer.

"…Lancelot."

Well, needless to say he hadn't been expecting _that_. In fact, he was pretty sure he was gaping like some gobsmacked idiot.

"What?" He didn't know whether his tone came off as displeased or just plain incredulous, but regardless of which it was, Merlin started rambling off an explanation.

"It was an accident. I didn't mean for him to find out. He overheard me when I enchanted his lance to kill the griffin." Merlin very quickly cut himself off, eyes wide as he stared at the prince like a deer caught in the face of a hunter.

"…What?" was Arthur's very intelligent, very flat, and undeniably incredulous response. Merlin didn't say anything. Apparently he believed that he had already said more than enough.

In the silence that stretched out between them, the prince tried to organize his rather jumbled thoughts. He began with what his servant had just told him. Apparently Lancelot _hadn't_ been the one to slay the griffin. _Merlin_ had, and without his aid, they probably all would have died. Lancelot had overheard him casting the spell and had obviously confronted him about it, and yet despite the laws of Camelot and despite the fact that he had only known the boy for a few days, he had chosen to trust him and protect his secret. He had also refused to take credit for something that the warlock had done even though Merlin obviously would have let him.

How many times had something like that happened? How many times had Merlin gone out and saved Camelot, saved him, without receiving any of the credit? How many times had he used his magic to protect them all when he could have been discovered and sentenced to death? Not only had he risked himself by accompanying Arthur everywhere, including into battle, but he had also been gambling with his life simply because of his method for fighting. Never once had he been safe even though he _had_ been able to defend himself.

How many times had he gotten hurt simply to protect his secret? How many close calls could have been avoided if only he hadn't been forced to hide his magic? How many times would Camelot have fallen into ruin if not for the sake of his servant? So many things had happened to them; the two of them had been through a great deal together. How much of the truth was he missing? What was real and what was fabricated? How much had he only been there for half of, or perhaps even less than that?

"I take it that's not the only thing that I don't know the full story about."

The warlock gave a shaky nod, his eyes once again cast downward as he avoided the prince's gaze. He looked so unsure like that, so small and vulnerable, anxious, uneasy, guilty…the complete opposite of everything he actually _was_, and Arthur absolutely hated it. It was all just so unfair. From the day they met, Merlin had always been standing at his side, as his servant and his friend, but Arthur could pretty much count on one hand the number of times that he had done the same for Merlin.

It had to have been lonely. He must have been so lonely, being so overlooked and cast aside when he could do so many incredible things, when he _had_ done so many incredible things. He had endured all of that all on his own. He had looked after everyone—Arthur, the people, Camelot—from the shadows, unaided, alone.

How many times had Merlin saved them all, forced to stand by himself, without once receiving anything in return for his efforts?

Just how many times had Arthur failed to be there for the warlock when he had never once failed to be there for him?

"I'm sorry." The words slipped past his lips before he could even think of swallowing them down. That was fine though. Once they were out, he found that he didn't want to take them back. They certainly didn't make up for anything, but it was a start.

He wasn't sure what he was expecting from Merlin, but he was pretty sure it wasn't the confused, guileless—bordering on almost _gormless_—look that he was suddenly receiving.

Could someone truly be _that_ unassuming and forgiving?

"For what?" Apparently they could.

_Everything._ Honestly, he didn't even know where to start. Nothing would be adequate enough. There was really no way to say what he was feeling. He had never been very good at the whole "feelings into words" thing to begin with, so it was unlikely that he'd be able to get it right for something as complicated and important as this.

The look on his face must have given him away, because before he could even come up with an answer, Merlin was speaking again.

"You don't have to apologize," the warlock said, completely sincere. "It's not your fault that you didn't know. I grew up having to keep my magic a secret. Eventually hiding it just became a habit."

He could understand that. Self-preservation was an ingrained thing, even though he did occasionally question whether Merlin actually had any. He seemed far more concerned with the preservation of the lives that _weren't_ his own. However, it made sense that hiding his magic would eventually become a habit, a reflex, a need…but still, he couldn't help but wonder exactly why it was that Merlin had never said anything. There were all sorts of reasons that it _could_ potentially be, but he wanted the real one. It wouldn't really change anything, but he just wanted to know why. Was it really because of trust, or was it something else entirely?

"Not that it matters much now," he began, trying not to sound dejected or, God forbid, _desperate_, "but can I just ask… Why _didn't_ you tell me?"

To his surprise, Merlin didn't hesitate with his answer.

"You're the prince of Camelot," he replied matter-of-factly, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, "and even though you don't always agree, I know you love your father. I didn't want to put you in a difficult situation like that. I didn't want you to have to choose, and…well…"

The warlock turned his attention downward again, his hands clenching around the material of his shirt, and in a voice that Arthur probably wouldn't have heard if not for the quiet of the cave, he said, "I was afraid…that you would hate me."

That hadn't been quite what he was expecting, but it pained him nonetheless to hear it. Apparently Merlin really had expected him to turn against him, to abandon him. In all honesty, he wasn't entirely sure what he would have done—circumstances would have likely played a large part in his reaction—but he did know one thing for certain. No matter what, he _never_ would have turned Merlin over to his father. He was pretty sure that there was nothing his servant was capable of doing, magic or otherwise, that would allow him to just stand by and watch him die.

Forcing each word past the lump that was steadily growing in his throat, he asked the one question he almost _didn't_ want an answer to.

"Did you believe I would have you executed?"

This time Merlin _did_ hesitate. For a long while he just sat there, his expression pinched in a way that implied he was thinking hard about his answer. Perhaps that was better than an immediate response. It implied that he was truly taking it seriously, that his hesitation wasn't so much because he already knew the answer but feared telling the prince, but because he actually needed the time to arrive at it himself.

"…I don't know," he finally said in all honesty, and Arthur found his heart sinking at the response before Merlin continued. "At the very least, I thought you might banish me, and no matter what, I couldn't let that happen."

When the warlock finally looked up again, every trace of doubt and unease was gone, leaving nothing but a pair of earnest eyes and resolution in its wake.

"My magic is for _you_, Arthur. To protect you, to help you, so that you can become the king you're destined to be. Everything, all of it, has been for you."

Every word he said was spoken with absolute, unwavering belief, and Arthur found that that lump in his throat was now taking root in the center of his chest.

"Why?" he choked out, because he still didn't understand how someone could give him so much when he had done so little to deserve it.

"Because one day, you'll be the greatest king that Camelot has ever known. I _know _you will. And, well…" A small, familiar smile crept across the warlock's face as he glanced over at the prince. "Even though you're an insufferable prat, you're also my friend. It's not just about destiny or duty. Prince or not, I would gladly give my life for yours. I pledged my loyalty to you a long time ago, and nothing will ever change that."

As Merlin turned his eyes away again, smiling rather contently to himself, Arthur once again found that words were failing him. There was nothing he could say, no way to truly vent the feeling that was welling up in his chest. However, there _was_ something he could _do_. For one moment, Arthur allowed himself to completely forget that he was a prince, that there were supposed to be boundaries and rules—because for the life of him, he just didn't care—and so before his pride could resurface and ruin everything, he reached over to his servant and did something that he had never done before.

He hugged him.

If he hadn't been so caught up and distracted by that strange warmth in his chest, he probably would have laughed at the way that Merlin tensed up in what could only be pure, absolute shock. The warlock was probably rather confused if nothing else. However, Arthur didn't regret his actions. There was nothing he could say that would ever make up for everything that had happened, that could ever properly express his gratitude, his desire for things to be different.

This was as good a start as any.

"…Arthur?"

Merlin honestly wasn't sure what to do. He definitely hadn't been expecting this. A part of him had even been wondering for a moment if he had somehow fallen asleep during their conversation and everything thereafter was just a dream, but he was pretty sure that wasn't the case. He could still feel the pain in his back and the exhaustion that had been gradually creeping throughout his body, which meant that he was still very much awake. However, that being said, he had absolutely no idea what to do. His mind had yet to wrap itself around the fact that the prince of Camelot was actually hugging him. He tried to turn his head to get a look at Arthur's face, but his movements were rather limited due to the arms holding him in place.

He knew Arthur well enough to know that he wasn't one for displays of affection, even more so when it came to him. What could have prompted something like this?

"Arthur?" he called again, just as softly as before. The arms around him tightened just a bit, and this time they were followed by two words that he never would have heard had they not been spoken so close.

"Thank you."

They were barely more than a breath, and yet the weight of them fell upon him like the heaviest of rain.

In that moment he understood, and as he finally raised his own arms, he found himself thinking that maybe nothing had ever really needed to be said between them at all…but that didn't mean they couldn't say it anyway. After all, that had never stopped them before.

"_Thank you_."

Why let it start now?

* * *

"…Are you sure you don't want to—"

"Yes."

"But _are_ you—"

"_Yes_."

"But—"

"_Mer_lin. For the last time, you're _not_ walking."

Crossing his arms over his chest, the warlock tried to glare down at the prince, but judging by the look on Arthur's face, he was failing miserably. It just wasn't fair. No one would listen to him. It didn't seem to matter how many times he tried to tell them that he was feeling better—not a complete lie but definitely not the truth either—none of them seemed to believe him.

He knew that all of them were probably wondering why he was making such a big deal out of something that really didn't seem all that important, but he just couldn't help it. There was just no reason that he should be the only one on the horse while the rest of them walked. His wounds were healing. They didn't need to keep treating him like he might fall apart at any moment (and yes, somewhere in the back of his mind he realized how ironic it was that the one time Arthur _wasn't_ treating him like a servant turned out to be one of the few times he was actually trying to act like one).

"Alright, I think that's everything," Owyn said as he attached the last of their supplies to the horse. He looked up at Merlin, grinning despite the glare that the warlock was still attempting to give. "Let's head out. We've got a long trip ahead of us."

"We'll take the lead if that's alright with you," Rordan said as he shouldered his own bag. "We know this land pretty well."

"Of course," Arthur replied, not allowing Merlin to say anything on the matter or the one that they had been discussing previously. The warlock begrudgingly realized that he really _wasn't_ going to get his way, and so he merely sighed and prepared himself for a very long ride.

As the four of them set out, Rordan and Owyn walked a good few yards ahead of them, picking their way through the forest while Arthur led the horse along the path—something else that _wasn't_ necessary, because Merlin could ride just fine on his own, but he knew that complaining wouldn't get him anywhere. The prince was stubborn, and if he wanted to keep pace with him by leading the horse by its reins, then nothing was going to change his mind.

So, instead of dwelling on the things he couldn't do anything about, he allowed his mind to drift a bit, getting lost in the quiet of the forest and the gentle pace of their journey. It had yet to fully sink in that after more than a month of being away, he was finally going home. After being kidnapped and whisked away, locked up and tortured, it was all finally over. Oh how he had missed his cozy little room, his bed, the sound of Gaius tinkering away just outside the door, the smell of herbs and potions and soup cooking over the hearth. He missed the castle with all its grand rooms and shadowy alcoves, the town and its markets, the surrounding fields, but more than anything else, he missed the people. He missed Gaius and Gwen, the servants, the knights, even some of the cooks, and he couldn't help but wonder if they had missed him too.

When he got back, the first thing he was going to do was apologize to Gaius. The second would be to hug Gwen. The _third_ thing, however, would be to somehow find a way to avoid Uther's wrath, because the king _would_ be angry, of that he had no doubt, but he wasn't entirely sure just _who_ he would be angry at. There was every possibility that he would blame Merlin for everything that had happened seeing as how Arthur had gotten captured because he was out looking for his missing servant.

Leave it to Uther to completely ruin his day even while being an entire kingdom away.

"What is it?"

Shaking himself from his not-so-cheerful thoughts, Merlin looked down at the prince who was walking right along side him.

"What?" he asked, trying to pretend that everything was alright even though that wasn't quite the case.

"I can tell something's wrong. I don't think you've ever been this quiet before, even when you _couldn't_ talk."

Merlin tried to scowl, but seeing as how the corners of his lips kept trying to twitch upwards, he knew that he was failing. In the end he merely sighed and told Arthur exactly what had been on his mind.

"I was just thinking about when we get back to Camelot," he said. "Gaius will probably be mad at me for making him worry like that, and I take it that _your_ father might not be too pleased with _you_ either."

Arthur couldn't help but smile as Merlin more or less implied that Gaius was like a father to him (nothing new there, really), but it quickly vanished at the mention of his own father.

"Not like that's anything new," he sighed. That had actually been a rather common state for the king as of late.

"What are you going to tell him?"

To be perfectly honest, he hadn't quite figured that part out yet. He knew exactly what he _wasn't_ going to tell him, but at the same time he knew that he couldn't omit everything. However, he had no intention of letting Merlin take any of the blame for what had happened. Whatever story he decided to fabricate, he would make sure that his father understood that if it hadn't been for Merlin, he wouldn't have made it out alive (what he most certainly _didn't_ need to know was that it was technically _because_ of Merlin that everything had happened in the first place). After all, the king had believed him to be on a mere hunting trip when he had been kidnapped, _not_ out searching for his servant, and he wasn't going to tell him anything otherwise.

"I'll think of something," he said before looking directly at the warlock. He needed to make sure that Merlin was paying attention before reassuring him. "Don't worry. No harm will come to you, I give you my word."

Merlin merely smiled in response.

"I never doubted you."

He still didn't quite understand how the warlock could place so much faith in him after everything that had happened, but he had finally decided to stop questioning it. There was no reason to. Instead he would simply do everything he could to one day feel like he truly deserved it.

"Arthur?" The prince looked up at the sound of his name only to find that Merlin had his eyes fixed firmly on the ground (or what he could see of it beyond the horse). "I don't know if I ever said it, but thank you for coming to find me."

"There's no need. After all, a good servant is hard to come by." He lowered his voice as he added with complete sincerity, "A good friend even more so."

The look those words earned him was completely worth it. Perhaps it wasn't so bad, swallowing his pride every now and then. He could learn to live with it if it meant being able to return even an ounce of what he had been given.

A thoughtful look crossed the warlock's face again, but this time instead of getting lost in thought and lapsing into silence, Merlin turned to face him with an expression that clearly looked like he had made up his mind about something.

"When we get back to Camelot," he began, his words coming out careful but firm, "it might be hard to have a proper conversation, and I'm sure you still have a lot of questions, so…go ahead. You can ask me about whatever you want. I _swear_ I'll tell you everything—no more lies, no more secrets, whatever you want to know."

His reply was immediate. He had been waiting a long time, after all. He had had more than enough time to think about it.

"I want to know everything, from the very beginning." He wanted to understand all of it, to know the truth of just what had been done for him. He wanted to relive it all from Merlin's perspective, to see just what he had missed. More than that though, he just wanted to know about the ridiculous, impossible, obstinate, loyal, kind, foolish, complete idiot of a warlock that had decided to befriend the crown prince of Camelot.

Merlin knew almost everything there was to know about him. He wanted it to go both ways.

Merlin smiled down at him, and unlike the boy's attempted glare from earlier, this expression looked every bit at home upon his face.

"Alright."

And just like he had promised, Merlin told him everything.

He told him about growing up in Ealdor, about being told to hide his magic, and about a worried mother who had sent him off to Gaius in hopes that he could learn to better control his talents. He told him about those first few days and then the next few weeks, and then months upon months of things that he had done, of things that Arthur had done (and quite a few things he actually _hadn't_ done), and of all the people that had come in and out of their lives that the prince hadn't been fully aware of. Merlin told him about every single incident, every quest, every threat, every beast and witch and villain that had ever set foot in Camelot and that he had chased away or removed by force.

Most importantly though, he told him about everything that he had ever done with his magic: all the chores he had cheated on, all the pranks he had played, all the times he had defended himself when no one thought him capable, and all the things he had protected. He told him about the sorcerers that he had bested, the monsters he had vanquished, all the lives he had saved as well as the ones that he hadn't. The warlock told him _everything_, leaving nothing out, and whenever Arthur interjected with a question or comment of his own, they were welcomed openly and honestly, and he couldn't help but wonder if perhaps he hadn't been the only one waiting for this moment.

They talked well throughout the day and then well into the night, and when the next day dawned bright and early, they picked right back up where they had left off. If their two companions were at all bothered by their constant chatter, they certainly didn't show it, and instead Arthur caught them both shooting rather fond glances at the two of them. He imagined they probably made quite the sight—the servant sitting atop the horse while the prince walked along side, talking and laughing and joking like old friends often did. It was a nice feeling to not be placed so far above everyone else, to feel like just another person, just a friend, unburdened and unhindered by things like status and protocol.

He knew that when they got back to Camelot, all of that would have to change. He would go back to being the prince and Merlin would return to being his servant—in appearance, anyway. There was no way they'd ever truly be able to go back to the way things had been, and in all honesty, Arthur was glad for it. Even if he still had to pretend in front of his father and the court, that was alright, because one day things would be different. When he became king, he'd make sure that Merlin stood at his side as an equal, right where he belonged, and that he'd finally be able to receive the credit he was due for the incredible things he had done. Court Sorcerer had a rather nice ring to it, after all.

They still had a long way to go, but they would get there eventually.

* * *

It had been two days now since they had set off for Camelot, and the morning of the third proceeded much the same way as the one before it.

"Alright, I guess it's time to pack up and head out again," Owyn said as the four of them finished off their rather modest but filling breakfast—mostly nuts and dried bread, but it was more than enough to last them the morning. "We'll reach the edge of the forest around midday, and from there it should only be a couple more days before we get to the border."

As Merlin began to help the two guards pack up their supplies, Arthur was quick to pitch in as well. It had become almost natural to him after so many days spent in their company. It wouldn't have felt right to just stand by and watch the three of them work, especially when Merlin still looked like he should be in a bed and not trekking across the countryside.

While the four of them continued to pack up their campsite, the prince directed his attention towards Owyn. Now that they were so close to Camelot's border, he decided to finally ask a question that had been on his mind for quite a while now.

"So," he began, only continuing when he was certain that he had the guard's attention, "what do you intend to do once this is over?" He already knew what Rordan's plans were, but he had never bothered to ask about Owyn's.

"Well…I'm not entirely sure. I mean, I suppose I could go back to my estate like a proper lord, but I'd really rather not. I'm sure it'll be fine without me. I know a few people who'd be willing to take care of it."

"If you don't plan on going back, then where _will_ you go?"

"Good question. To be perfectly honest, I've actually been considering throwing my lot in with you two."

Both he and Merlin stopped what they were doing and turned to stare at Owyn who, like always, looked like he was enjoying himself immensely.

"You want to stay in Camelot?" He intended to only sound curious, but he got the feeling that he came off as more hopeful than anything.

"Well, sure. I mean, why not? Since I don't want to go home, I may as well. It's not like I have anywhere _else_ to go, and besides…" He graced them both with a bright smile. "Camelot has you two, which means that it'll definitely be a lot more fun than my stuffy old estate."

"I hope you mean that in more of a 'you two are good friends' sort of way instead of a 'you two are good entertainment' way," said Merlin, although the slight smirk on his face made it seem like he generally didn't care which it ended up being.

"It's probably a bit of both, really, seeing as how they're equally true."

Arthur couldn't help but smile at that.

"Well, you're more than welcome to come with us," he said. He could always use another friend, and if his father would allow it, another knight.

The four of them continued to pack up their camp, chatting amiably with each other, but it was during their rather peaceful and almost routine activity that something rather unexpected happened. It began with the snap of a twig and the rustling of a few leaves and was followed by all of them falling deathly silent. After confirming that none of them had been the ones to make those sounds, Rordan and Owyn moved back from the tree line with Merlin while Arthur, having borrowed a sword from Rordan, crept towards the direction of the noise. It was most likely just an animal, but one could never be too sure.

Preparing to either defend against or chase away whatever had decided to approach their camp, he gripped his sword tightly and made his move.

Steel met steel, the resulting clang echoing throughout the clearing. Not even a second later, he found himself frozen in shock as he stared back at a familiar face that looked just as surprised as his own.

"Leon!"

"Sire!"

After just one more moment of standing there as still as stone, both knights quickly withdrew their weapons, and with a laughing grin on his face, the prince grasped the older knight's forearm and pulled him into a quick half-embrace. Both of them were grinning like they had just found a long lost friend.

"I can't believe it," the prince said, looking over the man before him to reassure himself that Leon wasn't just a figment of his imagination. "What are you _doing_ here?"

"Your father sent us to find you," he replied. "The last I heard, you were being held for ransom."

Ah, yes, the ransom. He had kind of forgotten about that bit. Amongst everything else that had happened, that little fact had gotten rather lost in the shuffle. It all seemed so long ago even though it had only been a few weeks since Barragh had sent the demand to his father. Obviously the king had received it, and just as obviously he had managed to keep a level enough head _not_ to send the entire army to retrieve him. Whether Leon and his men had been ordered to pay the ransom or not he didn't know, but in the long run it really didn't matter all that much. It was more than likely that they would have had to break him out either way; that's just the kind of man that Barragh had been.

"Well," he began, "as you can see, that's no longer the case."

"I'll send a few of the knights ahead to inform the king. The men will be glad to know that you're alright."

"How many of you are there?"

"Seven, my lord."

_Seven…_ That would put their count at a total of eleven. He'd rather not travel in such a large group, especially since it would make it all the more difficult to talk to Merlin.

"We'll send five on ahead to Camelot."

"Five, sire?"

"It's nothing personal, I assure you. I'd just prefer to travel light under the circumstances. Six is more than enough."

"Six?" It was at that moment that Leon finally seemed to take notice of the other people in the clearing, which Arthur found rather amusing. As it turned out, Owyn and Rordan had already been making their way forward and were just in time to greet the knight as he looked up to take everything in.

"Hello," Owyn said in greeting, one hand raised in a friendly gesture. The overly amused smirk on his face quickly earned him an elbow to the side from his counterpart, and Arthur had to try and restrain himself from laughing at the wounded look on the younger guard's face. When he looked back towards Leon, it became that much more difficult upon seeing the confused look on the knight's face.

"These two are Owyn and Rordan. They're part of the reason that I was able to escape," he explained. "I owe them my life."

Recovering from his surprise upon hearing those words, Leon moved forward and extended his hand to each man in turn.

"Sir Leon of Camelot," he introduced himself. "Thank you for looking after the prince."

"There's no need to thank us," Owyn said in a somewhat rare display of modesty. "After all, Arthur has done a great deal for us as well, and besides…"

Glancing over his shoulder with a smirk on his face, the guard directed everyone's attention to the remaining member of their group.

"He's the _real_ reason why we're all still here."

It was rather difficult to describe exactly what happened after that, because Arthur was fairly certain that he had never seen a look quite like that on Leon's face before. Shocked didn't even begin to describe it. The prince had almost forgotten that it had been well over a month since anyone in Camelot had laid eyes upon Merlin. He couldn't help but wonder if his own face had looked like that upon seeing his servant again.

The warlock was very slowly making his way over, clearly nervous about the rather sudden encounter. Even though Arthur knew that he was on good terms with most of the knights, probably more so with Leon than some of the others, it was still sometimes difficult for him to know quite how to behave around them. Even though the two of them regularly disregarded it, there were many who had a hard time looking past one's station.

However, Arthur also knew that Merlin didn't give himself anywhere near enough credit when it came to the effect he had on people.

"Merlin…" he heard Leon call out softly, as if he couldn't quite believe what he was seeing.

"Hello," the boy called back, his voice coming out a bit sheepish, a little unsure, obviously feeling rather anxious, but in the end it all proved to be unfounded. In the end, there had never been any reason for him to look so uncertain.

With a joyous grin, Leon moved right past the three of them and made his way to the warlock, pulling him into a quick, friendly embrace before ruffling his hair fondly.

"Merlin," he began, his tone every bit as relieved and jovial as he looked, "I _knew_ we'd find you. Not Arthur, nor the knights, ever once stopped looking. It's good to see you. Are you alright though?"

Leon motioned to the bandages wrapped around Merlin's head, and Arthur could understand his concern seeing as how they made the warlock look a little worse for wear. The gash on his head wasn't healing anywhere near as fast as they had all hoped, and so much like the wounds on his back, they had decided to keep it bandaged if only to keep it clean. Most of his injuries didn't hurt anymore, but they were still very much a testament to everything that he had been through.

"I'm fine," the warlock told him, sounding more than a little surprised by the genuine concern and relief that he was receiving. Arthur couldn't help but smile as his friend struggled to come up with something to say amidst his confusion.

Leon playfully ruffled his hair again, but Merlin still seemed to be far too much in shock to be bothered by it.

"I'm sure the other knights will be glad to see you," he told him. "I doubt they'd admit it, but they've all been worried."

"Well then," began Arthur as he made his way over, finding much amusement in the rather lost and almost incredulous look on the warlock's face, "if that's the case, let's not waste anymore time."

"Yes, sire."

Together, the five of them very quickly cleaned up their camp, and when it came time to leave, the prince found himself in an annoyingly reoccurring argument with his servant.

"_Mer_lin…"

"No."

"Merlin, just get on the horse."

"No. I'd rather walk."

"Get on the bloody horse."

"We aren't going that far. I'll be fine, Arthur."

In the end, Merlin ended up walking, and it was probably a good thing too, because Arthur got the feeling that if he _had_ been riding the horse, he likely would have fallen off upon finding the other knights. The moment the five of them entered the clearing, the six knights went up to greet their prince, followed by an exchange of pleasantries and introductions with the two men at his side, but upon seeing Merlin, everything else that needed to be said and done seemed to be forgotten in lieu of smothering the servant. He watched as his knights reverted from disciplined men into overly excited boys as they bombarded the warlock with smiles and questions, ruffling his hair and patting him on the back.

Arthur couldn't help but smile at the sight.

"You have good men," he heard Rordan say to him from where he stood at the prince's side. He couldn't help but agree.

"Yes, I suppose I do." He had always known that, but it had never seemed more apparent to him than in that moment.

As he stood there amongst his knights and his friends, his saviors, he allowed himself to finally take it all in, to look at everything that had happened, everything that hadn't, and everything that could. He thought about his father and his duty, about his knights and his people, about his kingdom and the future and _magic_…but more than anything else, he thought about himself and he thought about Merlin. He thought about everything they had been through, all they still needed to do, and what they would one day become. There were still so many things to talk about, so many truths for him to learn, so many pieces of their relationship that still needed to be fixed—still needed to be _built_—and far too many mistakes, far too many hardships, more than he would probably ever know. Even if he spent the rest of his life trying to make up for it all, he would only ever fall short.

It wouldn't be easy. _Nothing_ about it was going to be easy. So much had changed in so little time, and nothing would ever be the same again.

However…

As he watched his knights fawn over the warlock, treating him like a comrade—like a _brother_—he couldn't help but feel like everything would turn out alright. Maybe not right away, maybe not tomorrow, maybe not even ten years from now, but someday…

When Merlin turned to face him, hair a mess, eyes wet, and a smile brighter than any before stretching across his face, everything—every little thing that had felt out of place in his life ever since that day almost two months ago—suddenly fell back into place, and just like that, Arthur _knew_.

Even though everything around them may have changed, nothing between them truly had. He was still Arthur, and Merlin was still Merlin, and nothing—not laws or secrets, kings or madmen, not pride or status or magic—would ever change that. For the two of them, this was nothing more than a new beginning, and this time around he wouldn't fail.

One way or another, he would find a way to earn the trust that Merlin had so freely given him, and this time around they would stand together.

He knew they still had a long way to go, but that was just fine. He could wait, because one day they would get there. He was sure of it.

In time, they would be alright.

They would be alright.

* * *

**A/N:** Well, there you have it :) I would like to take this time to just say thank you. Honestly, you have no idea how much fun this story has been for me and how grateful I am to everyone who took the time to read it. I really do love writing, and this fandom has truly been a godsend for me. It's probably rather apparent that I lack confidence, but you guys have consistently made short work of most of those doubts. Thank you to everyone who has reviewed, favorited, alerted, and simply just read this fic. I'm glad I was able to share this with you :)

As of right now, I don't intend to write a sequel/continuation/sidestory for this fic (that being said, if anyone else wants to, go right ahead. All you have to do is ask). In all honesty, I have absolutely no idea when I'll be back again. I need to take a break from typing for a while and see if I can get my arm to heal properly, and after that I'd like to start the original series that I've been planning for the last few months. I really would like to give being an author a try :) I think I finally have the confidence I need to make the effort. I'll probably post anything I do write on fictionpress under the same name (don't have an account yet, but I plan on getting one) for anyone who's interested. I could always use the feedback :)

Fear not though. I doubt I'll ever be able to leave this fandom completely, because, well, I still rather adore it, but it may be quite a while before you see me here again. So that being said, thank you again for making this writing experience one to remember. I would love to hear what you thought :)

Again, thank you.

Until the next time!

-BeyondTheStorm


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